


Sanguinello

by MauveTarte



Series: Sangue [2]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Cannibalism, Drug Addiction (of an OC) Mentioned, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Hannibal inspired, Heed the tags!, Hurt!Jimin, M/M, Murder, Mutilation, Psychological Horror, Sexual Violence Mentioned, Therapist!Namjoon, Thriller, Unhealthy Relationships, Update: MCD!, Violence, author makes things up as she goes okay, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MauveTarte/pseuds/MauveTarte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone please help Park Jimin.</p><p>Or, part two of my Hannibal Inspired!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prima

**Author's Note:**

> Although not _absolutely_ necessary, it's strongly recommended to read part one, Sanguinaccio, first!

Then

 

Jimin is resilient in love. He’s not a perfect human being and expects love to follow the same designs.

He was an artist, full of simmering passion and colourful creativity. He easily drew Jimin in like a moth to a flame. When caught, Jimin felt like a precious work in a fine arts gallery, like he was something to be in awe of. Oil canvases and fired clay works are still out there depicting Jimin, painted with gentle strokes and moulded with smudged fingerprints.

Jimin did see a change in him; the irritation, late nights, unstoppable shivers, and new scarring over his veins. Suddenly, the intense possessiveness and jealousy appeared and then grew into something manic and suffocating.

But, Jimin is still resilient in love. Love is not perfect. He loved Jimin. He _loved_ him, no matter what words would be slurred during his drugged up episodes. The episodes were not him, Jimin would reassure himself, they’re just another part of him that would go away with time, _a phase_. But, as more time passed, Jimin realized that even on the rare occasion of soberness, the artist was no longer who he once was. The poisoned version of himself only grew larger and seeped steadily into his very being until Jimin could no longer recognize the man he used to love.

But, but goddamnit he is supposed to be and will be _resilient_ in love, Jimin repeated like a mantra, but then…then he began to wonder what love actually was. He thought about it for weeks on end, having little else to do since he was being pressured, maybe threatened, to only stay within their shared apartment. He kept wondering about love, specifically _their_ love while cooking, cleaning and waiting on him.

Finally, Jimin stopped his wondering when his love came home in one of his worst fits yet. He dragged his feet, shouting incoherently at the silent and still Jimin. His love then rushed into the kitchen and grasped a newly cleaned knife before pointing it towards him. Jimin felt like an idiot right then, a terrified one for taking so long to fully understand.

Jimin turned to flee, but he simply wasn't fast enough. As soon as his back turned, his love shoved him hard, causing Jimin to fall face first onto the cold tiled floor. He tried to scurry away but his love grabbed at his ankle and pulled him in closer. Stuttered apologies and pleas for forgiveness shot out of Jimin’s mouth with hopes that it would placate the rage. But when the knife dug deeply into the sole of Jimin’s foot, he could only choke in the middle of his words.

“You belong with me!” His love spat out above Jimin’s sobs and cries of pain, “You’re mine!”

Seconds that felt like hours passed and the knife finally dropped to the floor with a clang. His love murmured to himself before giving Jimin a sharp kick to his side. Only a small and pained squeak could be heard and his love just clicked his tongue, almost as if disappointed. He then directed his sights toward their bedroom and staggered away.

Jimin used to tell himself to stay, stay because it’s love and who knows who else will come to love him anyway. But, it wasn’t love. It hadn’t been that for a long time.

So, Jimin stood up, being mindful of the burning sensation under his foot and limped into the bathroom. With the mediocre supplies available, Jimin patched up his foot the best he could. It wasn’t ideal, but he was sure it done well enough that it wouldn’t get worse. Then, quietly and quickly, Jimin packed a few articles of clothing, ignoring the snoring man on the bed next to him. Jimin paused in his packing and stared at him, searching for something Jimin couldn’t really name. Then Jimin shoved the remainder of his clothing more forcefully into his bag before he left the bedroom.

Back in the kitchen, Jimin retrieved a piggy bank hidden behind the refrigerator. It was for emergency purposes, after Jimin realized his love had begun to take funds out of their shared account to feed his addictions. Jimin didn’t even flinch when he threw it to the floor.

An assortment of crumpled bills and loose change were shoved deeply into the back of his jean pockets. Step by painful step, Jimin finally left his love behind him. He paid and boarded a charter bus to whatever metropolis was densely packed enough for him to get lost in.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Now

 

 

Luckily, skin cell regeneration on the sole of the foot is faster than other areas of the body. The M is the most stark and deepest, while the I is a simple line, thin and almost unnoticeable. The N is done in the pretty cursive way his ex always wrote them. The E, in comparison, is wobbly and child-like as it reaches towards Jimin’s heel. Jimin honestly considers himself lucky. The carvings could have been dug into a more noticeable area, and Jimin doesn’t know if he could deal with any inquiring stares.

Jimin wandered about for two days before finding an ad cattle calling for a large call centre. Jimin was, and still is proud, to have enough of cheer and charm to land a full-time position and maintain it.

For five days a week, Jimin calls and takes up about 15 minutes of different people’s time while surveying them on an array of topics. Hang-ups are more than common, and furious “take me off your list” comments are a close second. Some people are nice enough to humour him and genuinely answer his survey questions. His favourites though, are the elders, with no family or friends to speak of. They reply to him in a way similar to a loved one that hasn’t called in ages, and ask how he’s doing. They don’t have anyone else to talk to, so Jimin is glad he can be there for them, even in the smallest bit.

Before his first pay check kicked in, Jimin danced with a ball cap open to donation on moderately busy streets. He may have lied about his living situation on his resume, but he sure didn’t want that lie to be true for longer than necessary. A man approached him with a gentle smile and compliments on his tongue. His eyes were just as kind when he mentioned a youth centre, with a dance room available if Jimin wanted somewhere to practice during the upcoming cold winter months.

Jimin didn’t trust the man. Jimin barely trusts anyone anymore. Which was why Jimin was secretly surprised that it only took a week to get him in front of that youth centre building. Upon entering, the man or anyone, were nowhere to be seen. Jimin explored a little deeper into the building until he saw a group of boys with furrowed brows and pursed lips dancing clumsily. Frustration is nearly palatable when the group pauses the music for what might be the 5th time in 5 minutes. They stand in a circle and glare at the floor for a few seconds and Jimin… just couldn’t take it anymore. So, he coughs audibly and steps away from the doorway he was lingering in.

“Why not….do it this way?” He says to the young boys and then performs a sequence of moves slowly. The boys glance to each other and Jimin warily. They then huddle up for a few minutes, whispering to each other and shooting suspicious stares over their shoulders to Jimin. The huddle finally breaks and one boy steps towards him.

“We’ll try it,” he says, nose raised in the air, “but we’re not saying that we’re changing anything.”

Jimin smiles, thinking about how snotty and cute the kid is before he nods back eagerly. In the end, Jimin dances with the boys until they have to leave for their respective home-made dinners.

“Next Thursday?” The same boy asks while putting his school bag on across his shoulder. Jimin can’t help but be pleasantly surprised by the outreach and stutters out a confirmation. The boys then high five each other and shoot Jimin multiple thumbs up before they turn and noisily make their way down the centre’s hallways.

Two pay checks later and Jimin can finally move out of the homeless shelter and into a small apartment complex between his work and the youth centre. He makes friends with his neighbours’ dogs and walks them for a few extra dollars when he can.

A month later and Jimin became proud of the simple and happy life he made for himself. He wills himself to relax and enjoy his freedom, but the sole of his foot still itches occasionally and reminds him of what he’s still running away from.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Park Jimin?”

The two police officers are dressed in civilian garb and, according to their badges, are from his old city. They catch Jimin as soon as he finished his shift outside the call centre building. He was only able to take a few steps out the door before they blocked him off and flashed their badges. Jimin wills his hands to stop shaking as pieces of his old life are brought to mind.

“U-um…” Jimin stutters toward the ground, unable to meet their sharp gazes. He then glances around at his leaving coworkers, now murmuring and pointing at him with the officers, “could we…maybe, go somewhere else?”

Jimin finally looks up when there was a deciding silence between the two officers. They each nod once and motion for Jimin to lead the way. He walks them all the way to his apartment, a place where Jimin has found comfort in. When they are seated around his kitchen table, Jimin politely offers water while retrieving a glass for himself, but they also politely decline.

As soon as Jimin sits down opposite them, one officer whips out a photo from a folder in his bag and asks “Do you know this man?”  The photo is flipped up onto the table and slid over to Jimin.

Jimin instantly recognizes him.

“Yes,” Jimin says flatly, “He’s my…ex.” And Jimin flips the photo face down and slides it back towards the officer.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“About three months ago,”

“Is that when you broke up?”

“Yes,” Jimin grips his glass of water tighter and the bottom of his foot starts to tingle.

“What was the reason for the break-up?”

Jimin closes his eyes tightly, mustering as much courage as he could before he can open them again to stare intently at the officers, “Can I ask… what this is actually about?”

The two of them share a glance and with another single nod, a series of photos are removed from the same folder.

One by one, the photos are flipped face-up and pushed towards Jimin. One line of photos is of a man with a butterfly tattoo on his neck. He looks serene until Jimin sees the bruised line across his throat and it only gets worse as Jimin’s moves to the next photos in line. Stab wounds, burnt flesh, torn skin are riddled across the pictures. Jimin glances down to the next line of photos that have a man with an eyebrow piercing. The photos next to the face shot hold the same horrors as the previous line.

“W-what…” Jimin manages to say when he finally finds his breath again.

“We have reason to believe that your ex is behind these two murders. So, we would appreciate your full cooperation.”

Jimin is panting lowly, struggling to maintain his breathing as the photos remain glaring up at him. Jimin nods, unable to respond with much else, and stares down to his lap. He knots his fingers together tightly and reknit them in a nervous but comforting manner.

He tells them how they met, how they loved, and then how his ex became something else in both mind and body. Jimin reluctantly shows them the bottom of his scarred foot when they ask. One officer pulls out a cellphone and just starts taking pictures of his scars without even asking for permission. It kind of bugs him.

One officer continues to take notes in his little leather notepad while the other interjects for further clarification or more details. After what seems like hours, the two offer Jimin their business cards, for if Jimin ever feels like he had anything else substantial to add. They also then offer him the name of Kim Namjoon.

“We asked the local authorities about the best psychotherapist around and his name came up a lot,” one officer says gently while handing him a paper with a written series of numbers, “give him a call and set-up an appointment. It’s required that we get you to go see him at least once, but don’t look at it like that. His job is to help you,”

Help? Jimin’s not sure what talking to anyone will do to help dissolve his previous bad life choices and their consequences, but he sets up an appointment for the next Tuesday anyway.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Kim Namjoon is…good.

He’s good at what he does, and Jimin can tell.  A few questions and an hour long session is all he needed to get Jimin is blurt out his life’s story. Namjoon is intelligent with his choice of words and exuding persona. Unlike what Jimin expected, he’s not soft and pitying, and Jimin appreciates it.

“I’m proud of you,” Namjoon tells him, “and you should be proud of yourself for leaving him.”

Jimin nods, eyes intently on the floor of the office but then flashes of those photographs creep back up, “If I stayed…would he have—“

“One thing you’ll need to learn Jimin,” Namjoon cuts him off, “is that the actions of others are of their own choosing.” Jimin twists his fingers together again, remaining silent while trying to interpret Namjoon’s words.

Namjoon leans a little closer in his respective chair and it causes Jimin to lift his gaze. The stare Namjoon gives him is sharp and penetrative, “You didn’t tell him to do those things, Jimin, he did it all on his own, remember that.”

The second session is booked for the next Tuesday and tears fall from Jimin’s eyes as soon as he enters his dark apartment. He can’t understand what for until it hits him.

Relief.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Namjoon becomes a sort of anchor for Jimin. Whenever the press releases a new cover story of his ex’s new and latest victim, Namjoon always manages to bring Jimin and his whirling thoughts back down to earth. It’s not Jimin’s fault, he is reminded time and time again, his ex had become a bad person and Jimin wasn’t at fault for that. If Jimin stayed, the ex would have killed the others all the same, and maybe even kill Jimin while he was at it.

Namjoon has Jimin do self-confidence boosting exercises between sessions and they’re strangely effective. Jimin is feeling the weights lift off of his shoulders, allowing him to strike up little chats with his coworkers by the water cooler now. Gaeun has two sons, one heading to college and one a freshman in high school. Dongho has been at the call centre the longest with 15 years under his belt. He likes to boast about how he’s not even planning to retire anytime soon.

There’s a slight change after the fourth victim. Week becomes weeks and then two months go by without a fifth victim appearing. So, to compensate, the topics Namjoon and Jimin discuss vary. They talk about Jimin’s confidence primarily, but Namjoon manages to also address the crippled relationship he has with his parents due to his sexuality. It’s kind of great, digging and tying up the loose ends Jimin didn’t know he had, but there’s still this lingering sense of dread hanging in the back of Jimin’s mind. Where has his ex gone?

The dread builds and builds. Jimin stares at his reflection and he…he knows they look like him. A lot like him. The frame of the bodies, the height, the skin tone, the thick lips, the straight nose and brown hair. Jimin watches himself in the mirror while he fiddles and brushes his hair away from his forehead. He combs his fingers through it again and again until his fingers grip his hair so tightly he’s close to ripping the strands straight out.

Jimin heads to the store a week later to grab his usual supplies. While waiting to be checked out, Jimin scans the tabloids in boredom. Celebrity gossip with overexposed cover pictures take up the majority of the rack, but one tabloid is different from the rest. The headline is bolded and red, asking where the Angel Killer has gone and when he will strike again. The main photo is a blown up smiling candid picture of his ex’s last victim and Jimin just… stops.

Jimin exits the line and rushes his way down to the beauty section of the store.  He scans the hair section for a quick second before he reaches and baskets the cheapest hair bleach along with a box of half-priced orange hair dye. He lines back up at the end of the check out line, pays for his items and nearly sprints home. No time is wasted as Jimin kicks off his shoes and shoves his jacket onto the floor. A few minutes later and the smell of peroxide fills his small bathroom.

Namjoon stares at him silently at the beginning of their next session. The silence drags for a few more moments before Namjoon opens his mouth and asks, “Do you know why you dyed your hair?”

Jimin bites his bottom lip and turns his gaze away from Namjoon. He runs his fingers through his neon hair before his lips quiver into an unsteady smile, “they…they look like me, Namjoon, a lot like me.”

Namjoon pauses, “Yes, and what about it?”

Jimin sighs out quickly. He hates it when Namjoon begins his question game. It sucks because most of the time Jimin feels like he never knows the right answers. But, Jimin trusts that Namjoon will eventually guide him to a beneficial realization, like he usually does.

“I just, couldn’t handle seeing them whenever I looked in the mirror,” Jimin explains but Namjoon still has that look on his face, like he wants more. But, Jimin has nothing more to give.

“What exactly do you feel when you look into the mirror?” Namjoon crosses his legs, with his voice as steady as ever, “what emotions do you feel?”

“Guilt,” Jimin fires back immediately, “I feel guilty.”

“What else?”

Jimin bites his lip again, thinking hard on his memories, and then he remembers the way his hands would shake and squeeze tightly at the bottom of his shirts. He remembers how his heart would race and his insides would tighten.

“I…sometimes feel scared.” He whispers.

“And why do you feel scared?”  

He may not have known or recognized that he felt scared until that moment. But, he certainly knows right away why the feeling is there. It doesn’t take much.

“I’m scared of him,” Jimin whimpers, “I-I don’t want to be scared of him.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Namjoon says slowly, but just as sternly as before. Like he’s stating a fact, like what Jimin is feeling is logical, “it’s okay to react to a threat with fear. It’s instinctual. However, Jimin,” Namjoon leans in a little closer, “you are the one who perceives him as a threat.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Jimin finds his voice rising, “is he not going to come after me too?”

Namjoon is silent, eyes searching Jimin’s before he replies, “Whenever you meet him next, whether that be face-to-face or behind bars, we will make sure that you will be able to tell him ‘ _I’m not scared of you anymore_ ’,”

It sounds so nice, so amazing to even imagine Jimin not feeling scared anymore.

“How?” Jimin whispers, “how can I say that?”

Namjoon leans back and clears his throat, a click of his pen and a few scribbles later and Namjoon looks back up to Jimin with a small smile, “with my help, of course.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The last session ended on a good note, but now, it marks the three month anniversary of his ex’s last kill. It has Jimin twining his fingers together tightly while he waits outside Namjoon’s office. The door finally opens, but Jimin doesn’t bother to look up. However, the previous client doesn’t become a passing blur like the others. Instead, Jimin feels a stare burning into him and he feels the compulsion to turn his gaze up to meet it. The man watching him has dull, dark brown hair with eyes that are feline in nature, both with its shape and accessing stare. With only a few seconds passing, the man’s mere presence has caused shivers of unease to course through Jimin’s body. Jimin fearfully and shamefully breaks their shared gaze and looks to his feet.  

Namjoon’s voice is a welcomed interruption to his thoughts. Namjoon noticeablely shoves the staring man aside, leaving enough room for Jimin to pass. Jimin congratulates himself on not sparing one glance to the man as he walks by him and into Namjoon’s office.

Jimin has learned that Namjoon can school his expression very well. He’s neutral most of the time, but can crack a smile when Jimin tells him funny stories about the boys at the youth centre or lower his voice when they speak of high tension topics. Jimin sees something different in Namjoon as soon as they sit down for their session. His expression is neutral, yes, but his body is taut and fidgety. He appears to be irritated in the least possible way, but it’s more than Jimin is ever used to seeing.

They talk about Jimin’s week and any struggles he’s been through. It’s all as per usual until Namjoon cuts in, “Jimin…what do you think of death?”

Jimin brought up how Gaeun’s cat had just passed away and how Jimin’s wondering how he can help her cope, so he supposes he understands why Namjoon asked the question. But, it still catches him off guard.

“Death?” He pauses, compiling words to answer, “I guess it has to happen? I mean, I’ve never had a pet before, so I don’t really—“

“No, Jimin, I meant death in general.” Namjoon isn’t looking at him but distantly to the door behind him, “what do you think of it?”

Jimin thinks of his ex’s victims and of his terminally ill grandmother who died five years back. The silence grows between them for a few more seconds before Jimin opens his mouth, “I…I think, death…it’s not as scary or terrible as everyone makes it out to be. It’s just…the end of something,” Jimin notices his twisting fingers and quickly tears them apart, “I mean, isn’t being alive scarier? Living is so complicated while death is…simple. Death itself, it’s just…a part of life.”

Jimin isn’t sure what the right answer is, but he thinks he picked the wrong one again when Namjoon gives him the saddest look yet.

“Jimin,” Namjoon sighs, “if being alive is so scary and complicated, why do you think we still live in the first place?”

The silence between them is so long and thick Jimin can feel it in the air he breathes. Namjoon whispers for him to think about it and then their session is over.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo what up fam  
> imback with part two. and its multichaptered. goodness me. not my most popular work but this still has a special place in my heart. fyi: ch1 will be mostly prior Sanguinaccio, ch2 will be during and ~~ch3 afterward~~ update! Now ch3 and ch4 will be set after Sanguinaccio. thats about it  
>  lots of love  
> ps: talktome here at my [askfm](http://ask.fm/mauvetarte) and send prompts my way, i may write em.


	2. Durante

They showed up during a quiet Wednesday evening.

Knocks on Jimin’s door weren’t uncommon occurrences, with Jimin being the resident pet sitter in the apartment building. However, after opening the door, the small greeting smile Jimin has prepared is dropped at the sight of two fully suited police officers with their local badges flipped open.

"Good evening," one officer nods politely but his expression is stoic, “may we come in for a chat?”

Jimin switches his gaze to the silent second cop, hoping to read something from him, but the man only crosses his arms with distaste growing evident on his face. The pair remains standing in the hallway longer than they anticipated, one of them switching their footing while they waited for Jimin to respond. Jimin eventually and reluctantly does respond with a single nod and side-step.

It was like déjà-vu. The two officers sit down at Jimin’s kitchen table rather comfortably, closely observing their surroundings in what they probably thought is not too obvious of a manner. This time around the officers do take the offered glasses of water, but Jimin could tell they would be nothing more than decorations on the table.

“Where were you last night between 7 and 8 PM?” an officer asks, straight to point as soon as Jimin plants down in his own seat. Another familiar leather notebook is opened and a pen stands ready in the asking officer’s hand. The other officer slumps further back in his chair and crosses his arms once more while eyeing Jimin critically.

A deep breath Jimin didn’t know he was holding releases itself before he replies, “I had an appointment with Dr. Kim Namjoon between 6:30 and 7:30, but we got a little carried away and I ended up staying until 7:45.”

“And afterwards?”  The cross-armed officer sharply cuts in, raising an eyebrow pointedly. Jimin stiffens slightly, meeting the officer’s gaze straight on before his eyes squint with concentration. The cop’s tone is accusatory, which Jimin doesn’t quite understand, but whatever the reason may be, Jimin doesn’t think he warrants it.

“I commuted to my apartment, fed my neighbour’s cat, and went to bed.” Jimin replies slowly, breaking eye contact with the stern officer to look to the notepad officer.

An audible exhale leaves the stern cop of the duo, which Jimin can’t interpret either, but the cop then moves forward to rest his elbows on the table, eyes attempting to pin Jimin with extra heat. There’s a few seconds that go by and Jimin is getting increasingly more uncomfortable. Finally, the other cop pulls something out of a pouch in his leather notebook and places it in front of Jimin.

Jimin doesn’t recognize the man in the photo, but he has facial features that have been and still are far too familiar. Jimin wonders if it was bad that he wasn't too shocked by it.

“Do you know this man?” The notebook pad cop asks, his pen ready again.

“No,” Jimin says softly, “no, I don’t. But he’s…he must be from around here, right?”

The officers look to each other, like they always seem to do when they’re debating if they should share something with Jimin. The pair looks away from each other and lean back in their chairs at the same time.

“According to his…colleagues,” the leather notepad officer says, “he usually hangs around Marigold and Clyde, are you familiar with that area?” The question is asked in an almost natural conversational manner, but Jimin knew better.

“I know of it,” Jimin replies, “I’ve never actually been,” because the intersection was within an area known for it’s higher crime rate and booming sex trade. Jimin never had a reason to go and he certainly doesn’t want one either. Jimin reaches out and touches the photo. The man is smiling, why do they always find the pictures of them looking happy?

“My ex killed him, right?” Jimin says flatly, pushing the photo back towards the notepad officer. The officer quickly tucks it back into its original pouch and the stern officer leans forward again.

“Why do you say that?” His voice is low, steady, _demanding_ and Jimin kind of finds it rudely funny. Do they think he’s stupid?

“Why else would you be here?” Jimin leans forward too, because he decided for himself that he shouldn’t be scared of the officers. Like Namjoon has told Jimin time and time again, he's done nothing wrong, he’s not responsible for any of this. Jimin does not need two uniformed men to come along and start shooting questions at him like he’s the one with the murder weapon in hand.

The leather notepad officer sees the small change in Jimin and reaches forward to grip the other officer’s shoulder. Tension in the air vanishes when the two slowly begin to stand from their seats. They mumble to Jimin while handing their business cards over, saying to call them if he sees anything suspicious. As soon as Jimin closes and locks the door behind them, he reaches for his cellphone with shaky hands and dials Namjoon’s number.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Mr.Kim…”

“You know you can call me Namjoon, Jimin,” Namjoon drawls out, almost like a sigh, quickly gazing up from his notepad to meet Jimin’s eyes dead on.

Jimin’s shoulders loosen slightly, drooping like he had just been reprimanded. He wonders if Namjoon lets his other patients call him by his first name and how far he can go before he’s breeching some untold doctor-patient boundaries.

“I was wondering,” Jimin whispers, “do you have…someone?”

Namjoon doesn’t startle or react like Jimin would to hope to see. Jimin did also know that Namjoon is a master at masking what he really thinks and feels.

“Why are you wondering?” Namjoon replies lightly, his tone easy-going, like he’s conversing with a friend. Jimin instantly feels less awkward about asking.

“I’ve been thinking about the victims again,” Jimin says just as lightly back. Namjoon scribbles something on his pad for a handful of seconds, and it lands Jimin right back into awkwardness. That stupid notepad is a reminder of what Namjoon is to Jimin. Namjoon is his therapist, a person paid to listen and talk to Jimin’s mentally damaged self. Namjoon is most certainly not his friend. Jimin needs to remember that.

“And how do those relate?” Namjoon inquires, not acknowledging the up and downs of Jimin’s demeanour.

“I was thinking about the ones they leave behind,” Jimin stares at the painting behind Namjoon’s head. It’s an abstract work, one that always appears different depending on Jimin’s mood. Sometimes it’s hard to look at Namjoon during sessions, so Jimin grows particularly fond of the ever changing painting. “I mean, it doesn’t seem fair to me. I don’t have anyone to leave behind.”

“No,” Namjoon cuts in sharply with his pen frozen. It sort of takes Jimin by surprise. Namjoon is never nearly as hard or steely as he is at that moment, “ _that_ train of thought ends here. You should know better than to think your life’s worth is based off who or how many you have waiting at home.”

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Jimin finds himself sputtering out an excuse, “I meant that… so many people are getting hurt when I could be the one person to end the cycle, you know?”

“No, I don’t know, because it’s not true,” Namjoon slams the pen flat down on his pad, “we went over this, Jimin. Can you tell me what we’ve already discussed?”

Jimin purses his lips, knowing what Namjoon wants to hear but he doesn’t want to say it. He wants to talk about what he’s feeling, what has been tormenting him lately, and Namjoon isn’t letting him.

“I know,” Jimin says back, voice rising, “I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help what my mind thinks sometimes.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Namjoon voice drops to monotone, catching onto Jimin’s irritation like a good therapist should, “you don’t fully comprehend it’s not your fault because your mind is still allowing those types of thoughts to bother you.”

Jimin is feeling sparks of irrational angry now. With that and the remaining residue from the police visits, Jimin hisses out, “then isn’t it your job to properly change that?”

Namjoon laughs. He fucking laughs. Jimin has never seen the man laugh before and the first time is in fucking mockery.

“Jimin,” he says with a small smile, “just who do you think I am?”

“A psychologist, one that apparently thinks my sanity is a joke,” The anger is slowly flushing out of Jimin and sadness rushes in to replace it. Maybe Namjoon isn’t really helping Jimin after all. Maybe Jimin is untreatable.

“Your sanity,” Namjoon presses with his tone, “is not completely in my control. It’s ultimately in yours. I can only try to give you the tools to best handle it.”

“Well,” Jimin mumbles, “you’re obviously not giving me the right ones,”  

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, “yeah, looks like we, as in you and I, will have to keep tinkering at that.” Namjoon smirks and damn, Jimin is an embarrassment. Why did he get angry at Namjoon out of all people?

“I’m sorry,” Jimin blurts out, “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to blow up at you like that. It’s been a tough week.”

“Apology accepted,” Namjoon's smirk turns into a smile. He then uncrossed his legs and stands up, signalling the end of Jimin’s session. A large sigh escapes Jimin before he rises from his seat as well.

Namjoon walks around to his desk and just stands there as Jimin nods his goodbye on the way towards the door. When Jimin’s hand is on the door handle, Namjoon calls out to him.

Namjoon is still just standing there, his brows knit together while looking to the part of the door above Jimin’s head. He then stiffly reaches down with Jimin watching and pulls open a drawer. With a large Tupperware container now clenched in Namjoon's hands, he strides over to meet Jimin. Once a comfortable distance away, Namjoon motions the Tupperware towards him.

“For you,” Namjoon whispers.

Jimin removes his hands from his across shoulder bag and takes the offered Tupperware. He raises the container up and sees what looks to be food. Jimin finds Namjoon confusing on the average day, but today has set a new record for Jimin. Although Jimin doesn’t always fully get Namjoon, he is still very used to Namjoon being his consistently cold yet honest self. So, the entire situation just doesn’t make sense.

“Is this food?” Jimin asks, bewildered.

“A…friend of mine,” Namjoon slowly says, staring intently at the Tupperware, “likes to cook. And in big portions. So, I figured you’d appreciate it better than the trash a week from now.”

Jimin clutches the Tupperware a little closer to himself, a little bit of shock hitting him. It’s personal, too personal. It makes Jimin happy, but also frustrated because it doesn’t feel like a Namjoon thing to do.

“Okay,” Jimin finds himself saying, “okay, thanks for the free food, I guess.” Namjoon doesn’t look to Jimin but to the lamp standing next to the door before he responds with a nod. Jimin decides he shouldn’t look a prized horse in its mouth and takes the chance to leave.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The food is delicious and decadent. The variety of flavours and visual presentations inside the cheap-looking plastic containers have a strange dichotomy. Jimin doesn’t understand how Namjoon can willingly toss what are obviously very high quality food dishes his way. Either way, Namjoon’s friend is a sort of culinary genius, and Jimin is more than a little excited to see and taste whenever the next creation is presented to him.

Then, it kind of occurs to him one day while glancing at the growing pile of Tupperware in his cupboard. It’s weird. How did receiving gourmet leftovers become a routine? Why does Namjoon’s friend feel the need to share with Namjoon these portions every two or three weeks?  He’s not ungrateful by any means, Jimin is sure to share his appreciations and asks Namjoon to pass on his praises every time he can. But then, Namjoon’s small yet awkward smile twitches at Jimin’s words and his head almost always nods in a single motion.

Jimin tells himself to stop it, to stop the train of thoughts that wants to question anything positive in his life. He should enjoy what he gets. Especially when the cops routinely swing by every time a new victim pops up and they ask these questions like they think Jimin knows something, like he’s behind his ex and egging him on. Their attitudes turn even more severe one day and Jimin is starting to lose his patience with them.

“This one is not like the rest, Jimin!” one cop bangs his hand down on the table, next to the photo of the newest victim, “he’s not a street walker, the only one who hasn’t been a street walker—“

“I know! I’ve read the papers, okay?” Jimin raises his voice right back, pushing his bangs off his forehead harshly in his frustration.

“Yeah, and you’ve read that note he sent you too, didn’t you? Why won’t you tell us more about that?” The cop leans in just that much closer and Jimin is just so fucking done.

“What exactly is it you want from me, for fuck sakes!” Both cops freeze, eyeing Jimin critically after his outburst. Jimin grits his teeth so hard before speaking again, “I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t know anything about him anymore. No, I haven’t talked, interacted, or even seen a glance of him no matter how many times a new victim pops up.” Jimin grips his hands into tight fists and stands up, “I- I’ve cooperated the best I can, I’ve let you into my apartment time and time again, and allowed you search through it just as many times. I called you as soon as I…I got that note, and I will continue to call you if it, God forbid, happens again, so can you….just leave already? I’m done repeating myself when I’ve been nothing but cooperative.”

The two cops slowly stand and nod, much to Jimin’s surprise, and maybe, just maybe, he’s actually been heard for once.

The next day, a young and fresh-faced cop shows up. Jimin is so close to slamming the door in his face when he sees something he never saw before. The cop smiles. He introduces himself with a handshake and explains with regret in his voice that he’ll be one of the two cops watching over him. It’s for his protection, the cop reassures. And Jimin wants to believe him. He wants to so bad, so he opens the door and offers him a warm and freshly brewed cup of coffee. The cop’s smile widens a bit more and takes one large sip when a mug gets in his hand.

It’s not what Jimin wanted, but…but he thinks he can live with it anyways.

He’s not sure who came up with the idea that Jimin should have a day and night bodyguard, and he’s sure he should be irritated by the invasion of privacy, but he’s not actually that hung up on it. They’re both very nice and ask very little if any questions regarding his ex. They say they’ll just be following him around from a distance. He won’t notice them, they repeated, and they’re mostly right, except for when Jimin catches sight of the camera pointing to the entrance every time he comes home.

The day shift, Mr. Hwang, is exactly ten years Jimin’s senior but acts like they’re closer in age. Upon first meeting, he shares that he has a wife and a cute eight month old puppy at home. He shared photos of the items the puppy destroyed with bitterness in his voice but a smile on his lips. Jimin jokes that his future kids will be spoiled rotten.

The night shift, Mr. Hong, is a little older at around 40 years old. He’s divorced but on the dating scene. Jimin only knows this because the man seems strangely curious about Jimin’s current love life. He’s completely accepting of Jimin’s preferences, a rare feat, and encourages Jimin to be on the lookout for a good man. Jimin thinks Mr.Hong likes being the sort of funny and loveable uncle figure.

When Jimin does catch glimpses of them, they’re never in uniform and are usually lacking of any sort of decorum. Jimin kind of likes having them around. However, it’s because of them that Jimin realized just how lonely he had been. It makes the occasional shared coffee in his apartment much more appreciated than what Jimin hopes he lets on. The both of them don’t seem to mind too much either. It’s pleasant but then Jimin would see the guns hidden beneath their blazers and reality would cooly wash over him again.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Jimin’s life sort of just settles.

He goes to work in the morning with Mr. Hwang lingering behind him. Jimin does as call centre employees do for 8 hours and makes eye contact with Mr. Hwang outside his work building. Sometimes they head to the community centre where Jimin dances with the boys or they walk off to Namjoon’s office. At six pm, wherever they are, Mr. Hwang and Mr. Hong switch shifts. Dinner gets eaten and Jimin does whatever to waste time in his apartment until it's an acceptable time to sleep. The dreamless nights pass by until he wakes up and starts the routine again.

On a Thursday evening, Jimin just manages to encourage the boys at the youth centre to sign up for a local dance troupe recital for teens. Although resistant, a little flattery from Jimin butters the boys up enough to agree. Mr. Hong matches Jimin’s pace as they walk home together, discussing the competition and boys light-heartedly.

Upon entering the apartment building, Jimin pushes the elevator button two times for good measure and tells Mr. Hong about different song choices that the boys could dance to. Mr.Hong has absolutely zero ideas about the tunes Jimin lists but he nods along like the out-of-style uncle type he is.

When they make it in front of Jimin’s door, Mr. Hong startles Jimin by smacking his hand straight onto the middle of Jimin’s chest. Jimin grunts in return and is about to ask what the hell when he sees Mr. Hong reach for the gun in his blazer. Jimin follows his stern gaze to the door and sees his door, rather the lock of it, looking a little worst for wear. Mr. Hong reaches forward with his gun-free hand and turns the knobs slowly, but the door doesn’t open with a little shove.

“Jimin,” Mr. Hong says sharply, “I need you to unlock the door and then get back behind me, is that clear?”

Jimin’s looking at the door intently and wills himself to believe it’s nothing. Mr. Hong is just being cautious. It was probably just some person who tried to break into Jimin’s place but failed. It’s okay. The tension in his chest begs to differ though.

Mr. Hong says Jimin’s name with a raised tone which Jimin immediately nods repeatedly to. He pulls his apartment key out of his back pocket, hands a little unsteady, and inserts the right one into the lock. He pauses a second before turning the key until it unlocks with a click. Jimin quickly pulls the key back and rushes behind Mr. Hong again.

“Stay here until I say otherwise,” Mr. Hong whispers and then he twists the door knob. The door opens without a sound, and as far as Jimin can see, the entrance of his apartment looks as it usually does. Mr. Hong takes one step, two steps and more until he’s deeper into the apartment. He checks to the right where a hallway leads to the bathroom and Jimin’s bedroom, he then looks to the left where the kitchen is. When Mr. Hong lowers his gun slightly, Jimin inches himself into the apartment. A few more seconds passes and Mr.Hong moves further into the kitchen. He seems to have cleared it because he turns around and heads back towards the hallway.

There’s a ding from outside, signalling the elevator letting off a neighbour and Jimin just, he jumps. He slams his front door shut with a weird impulse fuelling him and he instantly realizes his mistake. Mr. Hong whips around to Jimin with an understandably angry look on his face. But Jimin doesn’t focus on him but to the ceiling where an array of wires are in place of the entrance camera. Jimin darts his eyes back down to Mr. Hong with words on his tongue but no words come out because the pantry door behind Mr. Hong opens and a knife slices through Mr. Hong’s throat. Crimson blood sprays everywhere; the floors, the walls, his ex’s hands.

His ex drops Mr. Hong with little ceremony and grins a crooked thing towards Jimin. Jimin’s mind is blank as he turns around to grip at the door he just closed, but he should know not to turn his back to his ex.

Jimin cries out when the sharpest pain stabs into his side. He doesn’t get too much sound out before there are hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing. He can’t breath. He really can’t breathe. His mind is fuzzy and sight blurry with tears. His ex is mouthing at his neck between his snickers.

Jimin wakes up on top his bed and is in some major fucking pain. There’s something in his mouth and it makes breathing hard. Breathing is also hard when every breath stings his side, and that’s when he remembers.

“Welcome back,”

Jimin’s sight immediately sharpens on his ex sitting on a chair next to him.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” his ex says with a smile, “I’ve tried to move on…but those boys just weren’t the same,”

It’s fucking terrifying. Namjoon—Namjoon said Jimin wouldn’t be scared of him anymore, but Namjoon was wrong. Namjoon was really fucking wrong.

“Did you miss me?” The ex's smile then shrinks and an angry sneer replaces it, ”I’ve bet you’ve been whoring yourself out, haven’t you? You filthy fucking bitch.” Jimin closes his eyes because he really doesn’t want to see those vacant eyes again. The force of what feels like a back-handed slap flutters Jimin’s eyes back open though. “You guilty cunt, you can’t even look at me. You thought you could just go, didn’t you? You thought you could leave me and get your greedy hole filled by someone else like the whore you are. You fucking _disgust_ me.”

Jimin wills himself not to cry, but it hurts it hurts it hurts and he’s so scared.   

“You’re going to regret leaving me,” his ex says softly, caressing Jimin's thigh before he feels another smaller knife stabbing into it.

Tears finally escape Jimin’s eyes along with a muffled sob. His ex’s eyes visibly brighten and his smile comes back, “Yes! That’s right, Jimin! You and me, we’ll be having lots and lots of fun together.” And he motions towards Jimin's dresser. An array of glittering metal rods, knifes, scissors and more are placed in a neat line.

Jimin pleads and begs in his head for a quick death because there’s little else he can hope for at that moment.

But then, his bedroom door opens.  

It all happens so fast, Jimin just couldn’t keep up. There’s a short struggle and his ex is on the ground motionless. The stranger huffs out a large sigh, examining the ex a few times over before his gaze sharply cuts to Jimin. It’s a familiar vacant gaze and Jimin’s heart is racing from so much adrenaline and dread.

The man, the man is frightening, much more frightening than his ex. Jimin knew his ex at least, he knew what his ex was going to do to him. This man is an unknown variety of monster. His threats are hissed, with commands just as harsh and stern as he leans down onto the knife still within Jimin’s thigh. Pain aside, the man speaks like—like he’s going to let Jimin live, so Jimin nods along quickly to whatever he demands.

The weight on the knife lifts and whatever was stuffed in Jimin's mouth gets removed. The man silently unties Jimin from his bed and smoothly stands up. Jimin can only stare as the man wanders about his bedroom. He squats in the corner where Jimin’s work bag sits and pulls out Jimin’s phone. It's then thrown and lands with a thump onto Jimin’s chest. Jimin jumps when it hits, but it doesn't stop the questions forming flood out of his mouth, like who the fuck the man even is, but Jimin only gets a smirk in return before the man drags his ex out of the room.

He’s not sure how much time passes between the man leaving his apartment and when Jimin calls emergency dispatch. The dispatch caller is soothing to the best of her abilities and tells Jimin to focus on his breathing and to stay awake while she prods for more details.

B-but, oh, what was he supposed to say again? His mind may be getting fuzzier by the minute but the man is in focus among everything.

The paramedics arrive, most with absolute horror across their expressions. They check his vitals, flash lights in his eyes and then he’s on a gurney. Only when Jimin is in the ambulance does he black out.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“—and he just…ran?” The officer asks for what might be the fifth time in two days.

Jimin was told he had been out for about a day. Luckily when Jimin came through, his body is knife-less and somewhat dopey with pain meds. The nurse greets him with a small smile and asks him what he presumes to be memory testing questions that include his name, where he worked, the year and more. When the nurse leaves, two officers walked into his line of vision and they always liked to fucking stand there and ask Jimin the same questions since day one.

Jimin makes sure his story doesn’t change. His ex killed Mr. Hong, Jimin fought with him and got a knife in his thigh for his troubles. Before his ex could completely overpower him, Jimin managed to knick a knife from his kitchen and stab his ex in the shoulder. His ex retaliates with one more knife to Jimin’s side before he books it out of the apartment. That’s when Jimin staggered to his bed until help arrived.

The cops weren’t satisfied with Jimin’s story, which fuck them, Jimin just missed out on what was going to be a long and tortuous death, so they should accept whatever story Jimin has to give them.   

“You said you stabbed your ex, but we couldn’t find any traces of his blood on the scene,” one officer states.

Jimin is just about done with talking so he rasps out, “Maybe your crime scene investigators should look closer so you don’t have to bother injured hospital patients.”

Luckily, the pair of cops finally take to Jimin’s hinting for privacy and get out of his sight with departing mumbles and nods.

A few minutes go by for the defensive tension in his chest to lighten. The feeling doesn’t last because his mind wanders as it does and memories make his gut suddenly drop. Jimin recalls the smirk the unknown man gave him right before he took his comatose ex away. Jimin doesn’t know anything about the man, nor what he wants to do with his ex but…but Jimin did as he was told, so the man will have no reason to see Jimin again. As far as Jimin is concerned, Jimin will take the story the man gave him and will repeat it to himself until it replaces the event in his memories.

Even when Namjoon asks about what happened, Jimin repeats the words he’s scripted in his mind. Namjoon may be one of the few, if not only, person he truly trusts but the knife wound in his thigh throbs and reminds Jimin to keep those words to himself. What good will come from telling Namjoon the truth anyway? Well, for starters, Jimin wouldn’t be wondering why Namjoon is staring so hard after Jimin shares the story. Mild panic settles because Namjoon doesn’t believe him either, does he?

Namjoon crosses his legs while on a stool beside Jimin’s hospital bed and asks, “what was it like to see him again?”

Wow, no holding back any punches then? Jimin thought. Maybe Namjoon was being blunt with him because he knew Jimin was lying.

“Terrifying,” Jimin whispers back, “I was…really fucking scared.”

“But you were able to fight him off,” Namjoon says, and there’s something in his voice, something almost…condescending.

“Yeah,” Jimin lets out weakly, “yeah, I did.”

“And when he ran, how did you feel then?” Jimin can feel the weight of Namjoon’s stare but pointedly ignores it, “…you’re still scared, aren’t you?”

Jimin’s jaw is clenched and he can feel the tears about to build in his eyes. His bottom lip trembles despite his best efforts to placate the movement.

Namjoon sighs and stands in the corner of Jimin’s eye, “I think I’m going to end our session here,” his words are monotone but then there’s a pause before he continues, “Jimin, would you please look at me?”

When Jimin manages to look up from his curled up fists against his lap, he sees Namjoon observing him casually.

“They will come to me with a warrant and I will have to show them your file. I’ll have to answer all and any questions they pose because that’s my legal duty, as I’m sure you understand,” Namjoon inches closer to Jimin and his voice lowers a notch, “but what they don’t know is that my duty to you is and will always be greater than any paper signed by some judge. Remember that for our next session,” and then Namjoon leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It’s been a month. A long month for Jimin who has to deal with things like irritating and repetitive officers, Namjoon looking like he’s waiting for Jimin to say something, and a pain doctor who thought too highly of Jimin’s pain tolerance. He’s healed relatively quickly for his injuries, at least that’s what they say as they hand him his discharge papers.

He meets Namjoon again a week later in his office. The week was the hardest yet. His apartment was scrubbed cleaned for him; no traces of blood to be seen, crispy and clean bed covers on his bed and a brand new camera facing his apartment’s entrance. Despite the pristine look, Jimin can still see etches of Mr. Hong’s crumpled body in the hallway and the array of sharp tools on his dresser at night.

Namjoon observes Jimin and his current high strung state of mind with little difference. Jimin shares his grief with carefully selected words, though the habit of speaking the same story for over a month makes them feel not so careful. But, Jimin’s thigh still throbs intensely every time he withholds the truth from Namjoon. His throat becomes dry every time he remembers his ex’s crooked grin and spitting words. He’s in the middle of describing the struggle Jimin supposedly had with his ex for the nth time, when a loud click resonates in the room and cuts Jimin off mid sentence.

“Yo,”

He’s dressed all in black, with his muted brown hair, darkened blank eyes and accompanying smirk. It instills a recognizable and palatable fear in Jimin at the very sight. The terror grabs hold of Jimin and freezes him. His heart beat feels like the only thing that can move, and it moves with an increasing and terrifyingly fast rate. His eyes fly to Namjoon for something, anything, but Namjoon—Namjoon looks only slightly irritated. There’s no startled expression or look of steel that Namjoon displays when a new tense situation presents itself. Jimin might stretch to say that there’s even a note of familiarity in how Namjoon looks to the man.

But the man ignores Namjoon, drawling out some more threats to Jimin, which is redundant in Jimin’s opinion. After all, Jimin already has said threats memorized due to them haunting him when he’s lying in his bed at night. What’s even more strange is the more than familiar container in the man’s hand and it’s about to be the last straw Jimin can process before his confused and horror-filled mind kind of implodes.

Namjoon and the man begin to bicker, bicker like old friends, as if Jimin isn’t shaking and scared out of his wits only a meter away from them. Then a realization hits Jimin like a freight train. An immense feeling of betrayal and shock washes over him because this dark and distorted man is the damn chef friend Namjoon has been telling Jimin about. Did—Did that mean that Namjoon knew what actually happened at Jimin’s apartment? Did he actually know what sort of shit Jimin was actually dealing with? Did he just let Jimin lie through his teeth while he wallowed alone in his despair and fear? Most importantly, did—did Namjoon know where his ex was now?

Jimin doesn’t like the man. Jimin is so fucking scared of everything regarding the man. Jimin wants him gone and out of sight for all eternity because maybe, then maybe he can start getting over the fucking disaster that was his life.

“If I take it, will you leave?” Jimin asks, with a voice that’s small and steady, and Jimin counts the stability as something to be proud of.

The man does agree but doesn’t make it easy. The man forces Jimin to limb over with his injury to retrieve the fucking container of gourmet home-cooked food. Smugness is written all over the man’s face and Jimin can only force himself to stare at the floor once back in his seat to avoid it.

“Don’t worry,” the man’s gravelled voice lets out in a careless tone , “he’s being taken care of properly.”

Jimin unwillingly chocks on his breath because it doesn’t take much for Jimin to understand enough what the man is insinuating. Though, the exact meaning is left up for mere assumptions because Jimin cannot bring himself to ask for clarification.

The man finally leaves behind the bookshelf from which he came and leaves a heavy silence in his wake. Namjoon just stares and Jimin …he just doesn’t acknowledge it. The silence might weigh on the room but the betrayal weighs heavier in Jimin’s heart. Namjoon stays sitting when Jimin slowly stands and limps over to his crutch. Jimin maneuvers it and himself out the office without sparing a glance behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Nearly two weeks go by, and everything around Jimin feels stale.

Jimin gets it stuck in his head that he wants everything to go back to normal. He just wants a life that has some semblance of normalcy. He doesn’t think it’s asking for much after all he’s been through. He forms a list of oddities in his life and systematically attempts to rid himself of them.

Namjoon doesn’t call about Jimin missing two of his scheduled appointments, and Jimin sure as hell hopes Namjoon doesn’t choose to do so in the future. Normal people don’t see a therapist once a week after all. Normal people also don’t associate with lying two-faced bastards either.

Mr. Hwang asks why Jimin had been distancing himself one day. He tries to match Jimin’s quickening pace on the walk to the community centre but Mr. Hwang soon catches on that Jimin has chosen to completely cut himself off from him. The new bodyguard that replaces Mr. Hong is a nameless man because he’s certainly not as friendly, and is almost rude in everything he does regarding Jimin. To be honest, Jimin is kind of happy about the attitude, it makes turning his back on his guards easier. Jimin reminds himself not to feel bad, because normal people don’t have other people, good-natured or not, following them around 24/7.

The box hair dye he picks up at the store is a nice medium brown with a smiling girl on the front. The dye doesn’t exude fumes like the bleach did, and one application of half the bottle covers up the orange in his hair completely. Jimin looks and feels more like himself after he towel-dries his new hair. He fakes a smile to the mirror and tells himself that things are going to start looking up.  

The weekend arrives and Jimin is watching another animated movie on his beaten up laptop. The warm green tea in his hands is calming and pleasant on his tongue and his dry throat. His cellphone on the coffee table buzzes unexpectedly and causes him to choke down a very hot and very large gulp of tea. He leans over with knitted brows, thinking that maybe one of the community boys is texting him, but instead an unknown number flashes in the ID along with a message.

He doesn’t want to read it. Who would? But Jimin has to, because he certainly can’t ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist. Jimin tells himself, in a way that he knows would have made Namjoon proud, that he won’t be a victim of his anxiety anymore. So, Jimin unlocks his phone and reads the text.

_Hey kid, come see me at Café Alice for 6._

The face of the man from Namjoon’s office appears in Jimin’s mind immediately. Jimin takes a deep breath in and out before he clumsily presses a few buttons to call the number back. His willpower decreases with every tone that passes by until the line finally connects.

“Who is this?” he demands immediately, “How did you get this number?”

A familiar voice replies in his telltale growled tone, with a taste of humour on his tongue, which Jimin finds completely out of place, all things considering.

Jimin pauses, taking in the situation the best he can, but he finds himself asking, “what do you want?”with a tone meeker than what he would have liked.  Jimin thought he was done with the man or he hoped the man was done with him at least. But the man says the same thing as his text and hangs up the phone abruptly.

Jimin must have been lost in his thoughts for a while because credits were rolling down his laptop screen and the green tea is cool in his mug. He only breaks out of his thoughts when he realizes he should have left to go the community centre for a weekend session more than fifteen minutes past.

The boys fuss over Jimin and his injuries between their joking words, as most young teen boys do. Jimin can’t really do much with them physically, but he offers his verbal motivation and tips. The group is visibly more frustrated than usual whenever a sequence doesn’t match up or when one of them has a hard time with a particular move, but they try hard to make sure Jimin doesn’t feel responsible. They reassure him that it’s absolutely not his fault that he got mugged. Jimin smiles something small, because even if he lied to them and the recreational director about the story behind his injuries, he tries to remember it doesn’t make their words any less true.

Jimin waves to the boys behind his shoulder on his way out of the community centre. It’s nearly six and the walk to the nearby café is short enough that Jimin will make it just in time. His lone obstacle is the nameless bodyguard following a few meters behind him. The man told him to lose whatever guard Jimin had following him, and he’s just not sure just how to go about it…or more importantly, if he should go about it at all. He’s never thought to evade his guards ever. Would it be easy? Would it cause a stir?

Instead, he ducks into an alleyway quickly and grabs for his cell.

_I had a bad week at work and want to be alone for awhile. Thinking of grabbing some groceries._

He waits with a baited breath for the guard’s reply. A minute goes by when finally, _Okay_ , comes through and Jimin can’t help but snort. Some guard this guy was.

Jimin continues on his walk towards the café. He entertained the idea of back-tracking and not showing up at all, that maybe simply ignoring the man will somehow allow Jimin to continue along his quest for a normal life. But…but despite all that, Jimin craves closure. The dangerous man is yet another loose end he wants, _needs_ to be tied up.

Jimin doesn’t spot him when he first arrives, which he finds strange because previously, the man had such a presence that it chilled the air around him. Instead, Jimin finds a man who looks bored and mundane in his black t-shirt, blazer and generic jean combo. The white t-shirt and sweats Jimin’s wearing in comparison looks a little too casual next to the man, but Jimin was hoping the meet-up would be short.

He sits on the seat opposite of the man and is surprised to be greeted with a small smile before the man comments on his hair. Jimin awkwardly shrugs his shoulders as a form of a response because he still has absolutely no idea what’s going on in the man’s head.

“Did you come back from volunteering?” the man asks casually, looking Jimin up and down after the server leaves them alone with their written drink orders in hand.

Jimin stiffens and can feel his eyebrows meet as confusion washes over him, “how did you know—“

“I work in mysterious ways,” the man sighs, but his brows rise in an inquiring manner with a joking smirk, “so, have those punks being giving you trouble about the leg?”

Jimin doesn’t know how this man can know so much about Jimin when Jimin doesn’t even know the man’s name. There’s a likely possibility that Namjoon has shared some information about Jimin to him, but Jimin doesn’t want to think what else Namjoon might have said or even what the man may have shared about Jimin.

Jimin knows he should be scared. He expected the signs of fear to creep up in his chest as soon as he sat down but, but the man’s voice is mellow, his expressions are open and nearly friendly. It’s weird because, because Jimin hasn’t felt an interaction quite like current one since before his ex. It’s an interaction that doesn't feel mandatory, like with Namjoon, or something work-related, like with his coworkers.

“Uh, no,” Jimin replies, attempting to follow the flow the man had set with the conversation, “the recreational director explained about the, um, situation. So, they only grumbled a little bit.”

The man nods along and whispers back in, dare Jimin say, a warm tone, “that’s good.” And this situation doesn’t make any sense. This man is dangerous, so why does Jimin feel safer with him than with Mr. Hwang or Mr. Hong? There’s just something about the man that Jimin can’t put his finger on. His train of thought is cut off when the server comes by and drops off their respective drinks. “By the way, when’s that recital? I’ll see if I can swing by,” The man pipes up as soon as the server turns and leaves them again.

“Oh, really?” blurts out of Jimin’s mouth before he can retract it. The idea of adding a body into the audience for the boys is pretty damn appealing, really, anything to boost the group’s confidence. Recitals usually don’t have a good turn out and some boys would be lucky if even one parent could make it. “The boys would love that,” Jimin continues hurriedly, words tumbling out easily, “anything to get anybody in that audience, it’s June 1st at the Youth Rec, just down t-the—“ Jimin looks up and meets the man’s gaze as he points to the window across the café. The man is leaning on his hand while watching Jimin intently with his dark and sharpened eyes, “—road. Down this, um, road. It’s about a five minute walk,” Jimin finds his voice soften. His hand slowly lowers, their gaze not breaking. The man searches Jimin’s eyes as the silence increases. Jimin chooses to cut the connection right there so he can reach for his drink and take a timid sip.

“I’ll be there,” the man says finally and firmly, while leaning back. Jimin unconsciously takes a deep breath in when the space between them widens. The man then grasps his mug and asks, “I heard you liked the bread bowl stew a lot, what else do you like to eat?” And then the man takes a slow sip of his americano.

Jimin is reminded of the container still sitting unopened in his fridge. Whatever was inside was probably on the verge of smelling rotten. Flashes of the threats the man spewed while he handed Jimin the food come to his mind. It’s bizarre how the man then and the man now seem to be completely different.

“I…like pasta,” Jimin says, “it’s easy to make…and cheap.”

The man snickers into his mug and places it gently on the table, “well, Jimin,” he says with a smile and mischievous glint in his eyes, “from now on, we’re going to have fun time refining your palate and changing your bland food preferences.”

Jimin’s mouth is suddenly hit with the ghostly flavour of the bread bowl stew from a month back. Jimin was surprised about how a mere stew could be something more than what your tastebuds would pick up on. The stew on his tongue made him feel a sense of warmth and comfort; something he hadn’t felt since the days his mother would cook dinner for his father, his brother and himself on school nights.

Jimin reasons with himself.

This man, whoever he may be, has a hidden agenda. This agenda explains why he was there in Jimin’s apartment that night, why he threatened for Jimin’s silence and why he’s putting effort to be friendly with Jimin right then. Despite this, dread doesn’t pool in his stomach like it has in the past. This man hasn’t hurt Jimin, beside what seemed necessary. Jimin supposes he understood why the man had to threaten him to such a degree, but whatever was going on felt like a peace offering, an open and welcoming hand out reached to Jimin. When Namjoon was an anchor, this man _felt_ like the ocean floor, solid and sturdy enough for Jimin to grip onto.

So, they talk some more.

His name is Min Yoongi, he’s 27 years old with an unknown yet steady profession that has him on call, and he _loves_ food. He cracks jokes when appropriate, asks interesting questions about Jimin’s life and opinions.

It feels genuine.

It feels normal.

So, against what is no doubt better judgement, Jimin allows himself to hold onto Yoongi and his complexities for a little while longer.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

He knows his guards are getting suspicious since his requests for alone time are getting more frequent.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks after piercing a scallop in his seafood pasta with a fork.

The restaurant they’re at is deem-lit and only quiet murmurs surround them. The rich atmosphere made Jimin uncomfortable at first, but Yoongi has brought him to enough fine dining restaurants for him to grow used to it. Jimin’s sole plain white button-up shirt now gets worn at least once every two weeks, thanks to Yoongi’s fine dining tastes. The food is always amazing and Yoongi never flinches to cover the bill, saying things like how it’s his duty since he was the one to recommend such a pricey establishment and reassures Jimin that he gets paid much more than Jimin does anyways.

“Um, Mr. Hwang is asking me if I’m feeling okay, and is wondering if I should go see Namjoon again,” Jimin admits, flipping his phone face down without replying to the text he just received.

Something flashes briefly in Yoongi’s eyes at the mention of Namjoon’s name before his usual composure settles. There’s a pause where the unasked questions sits. Yoongi then quietly drops his utensils beside his bowl and reaches to his bag beside his chair.

“Give me your hand,” Yoongi says after he retrieved what he desired. A few weeks back, Jimin would flinch and obediently offer up his shaky hand, but now, Jimin has grown to trust Yoongi. Yoongi has become an abrupt and honest individual in his life. His dry humour makes Jimin laugh more than he’s done in a long while, and Yoongi never says things he doesn’t mean. It’s a relationship, a friendship, Jimin never saw coming. So, Jimin drops his fork slowly and moves his hand palm up across the table.

Yoongi places what feels like a small vial into it and curls Jimin's fingers around it. “Give it about 10 minutes leeway after you crush two of these into a drink, then you’ll have about 4 hours before anyone reaches consciousness again.” Jimin’s eyes noticeably bulge at Yoongi’s words, fist remaining closed and hovering above the table as the words process. Yoongi observes Jimin’s shock and softly replies, “Jimin, they can’t know about me, you know this. All I’m asking for is a small favour, so we can continue seeing each other.”

Jimin pulls his hand in finally and slowly, only opening his fist once it’s in his lap. The small vial looks harmless enough.

“Jimin?”

Jimin quickly looks up and searches Yoongi’s eyes that appear a tad concerned, “Jimin, I want you to answer me honestly, can you do that for me?” Jimin bites his bottom lip lightly before nodding his head in small bobs, “do you enjoy meeting with me?” Yoongi’s voice is slow and eyes are penetrating with inquiries of their own. Jimin feels his heart beat increase as the air seemingly tightens around him.

Jimin does. Jimin really does like meeting Yoongi. He probably shouldn’t, but he does.

So, Jimin puts the small vial into his jacket pocket and opens his mouth, “I do,”

Yoongi’s lips twitch just a slight bit before they crack themselves into a small smile. An equally small laugh escapes before Yoongi replies, “good, I enjoy meeting with you too.” Yoongi then reaches for his utensils again and stabs into the same scallop from before, “so, how’s your filet mignon?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Yoongi and Jimin form a strange cycle. One week, they go out and explore what culinary wonders the city has to offer them. The next week, Jimin knocks out his guard with whatever beverage is available and contacts a waiting Yoongi. Yoongi then swings by with a reusable bag of Tupperware containers, filled with his own culinary genius. Sometimes the food presented is new to Jimin and sometimes they’re a variation of what they've sampled at restaurants before. Somehow, Yoongi always managed to outdo the original dish his creations were based off of.   

“So, I see you like the mash potatoes,” Yoongi drawls while his eyes drop down to Jimin’s lips. Jimin has noticed he’s been doing that a lot.

A second tasting of what’s supposed to be a bland side dish has Jimin letting out another small moan, “I don’t understand how you can make a smashed root vegetable so tasty,”

Jimin watches as a familiar smirk stretches sideways on Yoongi, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

Jimin nods his head eagerly, “of course! It’s just so...”

“It’s just a little homemade butter,” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders lightly before he pauses and breaks out into a sigh. Yoongi then begins to lean forward and over Jimin’s kitchen table, “God, look at you. Have you always been this messy of an eater?”

Jimin looks up from his mash potato glory of a dish to see a hand coming his way. Almost in slow motion, a thumb wipes across Jimin’s bottom lip while dark eyes challenge Jimin’s. Yoongi then slowly moves back into his seat. Instead of wiping his thumb on the paper towel resting next to his plate, Yoongi’s thumb meets his lips. The lips open slightly and a tongue peeks out just enough to lick the pad of the thumb, “hmm,” Yoongi hums, eyes darkening ever so slightly, “ _delicious_ ,”

Fuck.  
No.  
_Yes.  
_ Okay, yes.

  
Jimin is so fucked.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Yoongi must know Jimin is gay.

If Yoongi knew anything about Jimin’s ex, he should at least insinuate that Jimin is in the least bi-sexual.

So, Yoongi shouldn’t be looking at Jimin the way he does when he eats Yoongi’s meals. Jimin might start forming expectations. Heck, he might have already started having them. Jimin can’t, and shouldn’t form these types of feelings for Yoongi. Yoongi’s the first person that Jimin has befriended in a long while. He needs Yoongi too much right now to fuck it all up with romantic feelings. Yoongi is the one relationship he has had in his life that’s normal. He _needs_ Yoongi.

Tuesday mornings are the worst for Jimin to wake up to. They’re not the first day of the week and he’s not even halfway through it. He does his regular routine of a quick morning shower while his coffee brews. He hops out and dresses in a business casual outfit appropriate for work before he whips up a quick breakfast on the stove. He tosses his across shoulder bag on, grabs a portable mug for his coffee, and waves to the camera as he exits his apartment. Jimin was told by Mr. Hwang that if the guards aren’t with Jimin in his apartment, they’re probably watching the camera’s video feed instead.

Jimin power walks to work, taking swings of his coffee whenever he pleases. He sometimes pays for a newspaper from the newsstand in front of his work building, and decides today was one of those days. He thinks that maybe international disasters will make Jimin feel less bad about how his morning’s going.

Luckily, most people he gets through to today are very kind and answer his survey questions honestly. Time flies by until lunch hits and Jimin happily pulls out a Tupperware container Yoongi gave him two days prior. He wills himself to eat slowly and savour the flavours Yoongi has decided to grace his tongue with this time around. Page by newspaper page, Jimin reads and it’s interesting enough until he reaches the local news section.

**_ “Gourmet Horror:  
 When will the killer strike again?”   _ **

The small headline on one side column article catches his eye. The small article talks about a dormant serial killer that had been active in the city prior to the Angel killings, and even had a few victims during the same time period. It continues to describe in chilling detail what happened to the last victim; the way their organs were minced, the sort of spices used and unique cooking techniques orchestrated on…on the human remains. The author talks about how the killer has been hidden from the limelight due to the Angel Killer, but was also swept under the rug because the police had no active leads.

Jimin pauses his eating, rereading the words a few times. The spices mentioned sound officially familiar to him and the techniques…Jimin was sure Yoongi had just explained to him how he used those techniques on the dish they were eating a couple weeks back.

A thought hits Jimin.

A rather large, imposing, and outlandish thought.

_“… all the victims also have evidence of receiving injections to their necks. It’s presumed the killer injects something into the victim in order to subdue them, though tox-screens can’t seem to detect any common…”_

Jimin gets hit with flashes of how Yoongi had originally taken down his ex. There was something in Yoongi’s hand, Jimin swears there was, and moments later, his ex drops to the ground.

Jimin looks to the fork in his hand with a piece of meat pierced within its prongs. He stares at it a little more before he swirls his chair towards his small garbage bin and pukes onto crumpled sticky notes.

The sound of Jimin retching catches his coworker’s attention in the neighbouring cubicle. There’s then a small buzz of murmuring while the rest of his coworkers rubber-neck to catch Jimin’s puking his guts out with tears streaming down his face.

He’s dry-heaving by the time his manager gets to him and ultimately declares that Jimin will finally make use of his sick days.

Jimin struggles to get up and stay up, energy draining from him rapidly. The newspaper is crumpled into his bag while the Tupperware container remains on his desk. His manager goes so far as to call and pay for his taxi ride home. Despite how fast Jimin makes it back to his apartment, Jimin’s dragging feet take forever to reach his front door. He opens it with more difficulty than usual, maybe due to the tears and nausea building up again. He has one more dry-heave session in his kitchen sink before he makes it back to his bedroom and sobs himself to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The first day, Jimin is alone and remains alone in his bed all day.

The second day, Mr. Hwang barges in and babies Jimin like a mother would. The man cooks rice porridge for him after he finds out that Jimin hasn’t eaten in nearly two days. It takes a heck of a lot for Jimin to eat it, but he keeps down a few spoonful thanks to Mr. Hwang’s urgings.

“How are you felling?” Mr. Hwang asks lightly after Jimin wakes from a small nap post his small lunch.

“Okay,” Jimin whispers, when he’s actually feeling like shit.

Mr. Hwang remains silent a little bit before adding, “how about you get some fresh air? You can go around and ask to walk your neighbours dogs…like you used to. I’ll be here when you get back.” Jimin fiddles with his duvet cover and can feel his head nod along to the suggestion, though it certainly wasn’t a conscious movement.

It does make Jimin feel a little better. Two neighbours see the sorry state Jimin is in, and offer their dogs to be some sort of pseudo-therapy dog for a half hour. Jimin walks them around the neighbourhood, their little fluffy tails wagging as they go, yapping at each other and other dogs as they pass. Jimin cracks a small smile when one of them manages to lick a stray cat who looked rather unimpressed.

He drops off the dogs with a smile less false than when he first picked them up and heads back to his apartment. He opens the door and enters the kitchen where he assumed Mr. Hwang to be. What Jimin is actually greeted with is Mr. Hwang’s body on the floor and Yoongi sitting cross-legged at his kitchen table with the newspaper in hand.

“Mr. Hwang—“ Jimin gasps out  and rushes down to the floor space next to the still body. His hands hover for a split second before one rest on the motionless chest and the other searches for a pulse. There’s no movement on either. His lips quivers as his heart clenches and Jimin is seeing red. He slowly raises his head to Yoongi

“Why didn’t you pick up your phone?” Yoongi asks oh so casually, like there wasn’t a dead body on Jimin’s kitchen floor, like Yoongi wasn’t the one who put the fucking body there, “you didn’t even reply to my texts.”

There’s a burst of emotions crashing within Jimin and he can barely contain them all. He bites his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus. He opens them once more and sees the folded newspaper on the table. With gritted teeth, Jimin hisses, “page 20,”

Yoongi offers Jimin one raised eyebrow before he opens the newspaper again. His eyes skim until they land on the article and the fucker only says, “and?”

It's the last straw to break Jimin because as much as Jimin wills his tears back, they flow right on through and his teeth clench together so much harder, “Y-You kill innocent people and you, you—“ Jimin can’t even believe he has to explain this to Yoongi.

“And I, what? Spit it out,” Yoongi shoots back, like he should be the one that’s angry.

“You’re sick,” Jimin spits back,“how could you just…” The hand Jimin has on Mr. Hwang’s chest tightens around the guard’s shirt to the point Jimin’s knuckles hurt. Mr. Hwang…he didn’t deserve this. Mr. Hong didn’t deserve his death either. How did Jimin not see...  

“How could I what, Jimin, do enlighten me,” Yoongi appeared to be all full of snark this afternoon because his reply held the most patronizing tone Jimin had ever heard. And Jimin doesn’t think it’s fair. Jimin is not the one in the wrong. He isn’t stupid either. He knows what Yoongi has done, all that he has done, and Yoongi understands very well that  Jimin has found him out.

Tired of the word game Yoongi was playing, Jimin finally gives him what he wants and bursts, “You kill, cook and eat people!”Jimin takes in a deep gasps of air, breathing suddenly becoming a feature difficult to manipulate, “what kind of human being are you to just, and you’ve, you’ve fed me them, haven’t you? I ate, I ate people. Innocent people, Yoongi.”

And Yoongi… Yoongi the smart and quick one that he is sneers back, “would it be any different if they were criminals then?” with his eyebrow raising again.

“You, you really are—“ then Jimin’s breath completely leaves him. It feels like hands are gripping his lungs and throat simultaneously, his brain tells him to breath but his body has other ideas. He’s going to die, suffocating in front of a killer without actually being touched by him. Yoongi stares on as Jimin moves away from Mr. Hwang’s body and collapses onto the floor, chest moving with each shaky and irregular pant.

But somehow, his thoughts stop reeling uncontrollably and the invisible hands loosen their grips inside him. Once Jimin feels less light headed, he notices Yoongi standing and approaching him. Jimin immediately gathers what strength he has left and attempts to inch himself away from Yoongi. There’s a predator glint in his eye and it’s filled with impatience. Jimin begins to shake his head when he feels a wall collide with his back, “please,” Jimin chokes out, “please, leave me alone,”

Yoongi doesn’t even blink and simply reaches out to grasp Jimin’s bicep. Jimin immediately flinches hard and, with strength Jimin didn’t know Yoongi had, Jimin finds himself pulled onto his feet, “you’re going to come with me, and you’re going to come calmly, is that understood?”

No, Jimin does not want to go anywhere with Yoongi. He really doesn’t and shakes his head slowly and continuously to show this. Yoongi’s eyes visibly soften and his lips purse into a small frown. A sigh escapes Yoongi before a hand gently cups one side of  Jimin’s face and prevents it from shaking any further, “shhh,” Yoongi hushes him lowly before he brushes away the tears flowing down Jimin’s cheeks. The fingers then comb through Jimin’s hair gently, while a tight grip stays on his bicep.

It’s, it’s unlike anything Jimin has ever experienced. He just can’t understand. But, Yoongi…Yoongi’s eyes aren’t like his ex, and Jimin expected them to be. Unlike his ex, Yoongi is still very much with Jimin, and Yoongi’s trying to calm Jimin down. His voice soothes Jimin like the fingers dragging across his scalp and his hair. A-and, most importantly, Yoongi hasn’t hurt Jimin yet. He actually hasn’t hurt Jimin at all.  

Jimin’s sweater hood is pulled forward to block his face before Yoongi guides him outside his apartment. Yoongi opens the passenger door of his car and Jimin quietly slides in. Jimin sits in that seat silently and continues to be silent throughout the drive. He doesn't bother asking where they’re going because he doubts Yoongi will actually tell him.  

The cityscape leaves them and soon the farmlands are filling up Jimin’s window view. Yoongi turns down a dirt road and makes a few turns before they end up parked in front of an old farm home. Yoongi cuts the engine and gets out of the car. He waltz right into the home and Jimin rushes out after him.

Jimin continues to follow behind Yoongi, passing by what looks to be a deserted living room and kitchen before they reach a trap door. Yoongi pulls on a rope to reveal a set of stairs and heads down them. Once down them, it’s like they had just jumped through a different dimension. Chrome and stain-steel everywhere. An array of knives are stuck to a magnetic sheet on the wall, three gigantic ovens and gas stoves sit next to each other with large commercial fridges further down a wall.

A gurgled groan echoes in the room of metal, causing Jimin to leap up in fright. He catches sight of…of something on what looks to be an stain-steel island with straps. I-it's something human, Jimin realizes and then he recognizes the eyes. It's his ex. His ex that’s been missing for so long. His ex that appears to now be only a waste of torn up skin and bone b-but Jimin still cowers behind Yoongi. His hands are about to grip the back of Yoongi’s shirt, but he just stops himself short.

“He’s not going to hurt you, or anyone, anymore,” Yoongi whispers over his shoulder, “so don’t be scared.”

Yoongi can say what he likes, but Jimin is still terrified. He can feel his legs quiver under his weight and his eyes refuse to leave any other place than the area near Yoongi’s feet. But then Yoongi walks away from his spot and from Jimin. In a matter of moments, Yoongi is dressed in a plastic apron thing with googles resting over his eyes, a mask covering his mouth and blue gloves on his hands. He reaches for a bizarre looking tool underneath the metal island his ex rests and the tool whirls on with a sharp zing. With little ceremony, Yoongi moves the sharp tool and just…slices through Jimin’s ex collarbone. Yoongi continues on with his ministrations, minuscule bits of flesh, blood and whatever else splattering onto Yoongi as he goes. The machine is shut off and placed aside for a moment before Yoongi reaches over with both hands and pries Jimin ex’s chest apart.

Jimin should be feeling sick again. He should be rushing out of there and vomiting his guts outside the farm home. But, his eyes catch onto the beating heart Yoongi just made available for viewing. It flinches and clenches randomly and Jimin didn’t know that was what a beating heart even looked like.

“Jimin, come over here,” Jimin’s eyes flicker to Yoongi for a brief moment and Yoongi is right there to meet that flicker,  “Come on, Jimin,” Yoongi says again in his gentle tone, “I won’t let him hurt you,”

 And Jimin believes him. Jimin actually believes him. The fear in Jimin lowers at the words, but it’s still very much there. Jimin manages to move his resisting feet closer and closer until he’s right behind Yoongi. Soon, Yoongi pulls out a new pair of blue gloves and hands them to Jimin. Jimin takes them with a light grip, looking them over before snapping them on his own hands. He chances a look to his ex and his heart skips a beat when he sees those eyes glaring him down.

Suddenly, groans of pain bounce off the walls and Jimin’s eyes immediately search for the source. It’s his ex, and Yoongi is stabbing at his eyes with swift yet multiple motions, blood splurging everywhere with each stab. Jimin can’t bare to watch and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I told you,”

It’s that voice again. The fear in Jimin settles once more, and somehow it’s even less than before. Maybe, maybe because Yoongi finally got rid of those eyes once and for all.

“He’s not going to hurt you anymore,”

Yeah.

Yeah, Y-Yoongi won’t let his ex hurt him anymore. Yoongi is stronger than his ex. Yoongi is better than his ex.

A light grip onto one of Jimin’s gloved hands forces him to open his eyes, “Now, relax,” Yoongi continues, “I’ll do all the work, you just have to open your eyes and hold the scalpel steady for me,”

Scalpel? Jimin wonders until the small bloodied knife Yoongi used on his ex’s eyes is placed into the hand Yoongi was holding. Yoongi guides Jimin’s hand and the attached scalpel towards the ex. Yoongi told him to keep the scalpel steady but he can’t seem to do a good job of it. Then, ropes of warmth hits Jimin’s forearm and it takes a second for Jimin to realize it’s his ex’s blood. The sensation sends shivers up Jimin’s spine and Jimin can’t help but huddle closer to Yoongi’s side. His free arm wines itself around Yoongi’s waist and Jimin pressed his forehead onto one of Yoongi’s shoulder blades.

Jimin doesn’t look for a few moments, but, Jimin wonders if he should feel terrible about the curiosity that’s striking him. So, he peeks over Yoongi’s shoulder until his ex’s heart completely and eerily stills. If Jimin is seeing correctly, through all the blood, both Yoongi and him had cut through all the connecting channels to his ex’s heart. Jimin continues to stare as Yoongi maneuvers both of Jimin and him so they are standing side by side. Yoongi then takes both of Jimin’s hands and uses them to remove the placid heart out of his ex’s body.

There’s a silence until Yoongi whispers in his ear, “how does it feel?”

Jimin only continues to stare at the heart in his hands. It’s not a pretty thing, but it’s a thing that keeps most living things alive…and Jimin has a human one in his very hands. Jimin slowly turns his head and replies,“I don’t know,” because he really doesn’t.

Jimin looks into Yoongi’s eyes and searches them for an answer to whatever he’s feeling until he feels the hands underneath his own vanish. He turns his stare back onto the heart and grips just a little. It’s so…soft.

“How does it feel to kill your tormentor?”

Tormentor?

Yes, his ex was his tormentor. He ripped apart Jimin’s life and continued doing so without actively being a part of at. He tormented and ruined Jimin’s life.

But, how did it feel to kill that? How did it feel to rid himself of that?

“Do you know what this means now?”

Something cold and wet is placed against Jimin’s cheek, bringing him back to reality. Yoongi is only inches away from his face, eyes taking in whatever Jimin’s eyes have to offer him. Jimin tries to tell Yoongi what he wants through his gaze, but his teeth nervously tear at his bottom lip until he can taste the copper of his blood.

“Now, we’re in this together,” Yoongi whispers, “and no one will ever hurt you again,”

The words repeat in Jimin’s mind and the nerves in Jimin soften their sparks and it feels like all the tensed muscles in his body relax. He quickly licks his lips as puffs of his breath escapes from them. Jimin tries to read Yoongi’s eyes for hints of lies, of deception, but Yoongi’s gaze is sure and strong. The heart is in his hands lays cold and still, but Jimin decides to attempt to pump life back into it. He tightens and relaxes his grip for a few moments before, “o-okay,” falls out his lips and tears falls out his eyes.

Because with this mess of a life he has, Jimin thinks it’ll be better to have Yoongi in it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow  
> hey  
> sorry for the huge wait, you guys are troopers. also, will proof read better...tomorrow.  
> iiii may have lost my muse for this guy for a couple of months, but it came rushing back this past week. woot  
> one more chapter, which i think will be easier to write because i dont have to keep an eye on something i already wrote for consistencies purposes. just making shit up as i go. nothing is set in stone for the next chapter, so feel free to drop your suggestions in the comments orrrr on my ask.fm <3  
> ps: longest chapter of anything i've written EVER. 12k omg. i thought this entire series would be 12k, not just one chapter.


	3. Dopo (Prima Parte)

Jimin remembers when he fell for his ex.

Their third date had them wasting some time together in a nearly empty bar. Their knees would caress whenever his ex leaned in and whispered something into Jimin’s ear. Even though they both knew there was no real need to be closer in such a quiet bar. Jimin felt and loved the intimacy with each touch and motion his ex directed towards him. His ex’s eyes shone with such adoration and care, and it was all and only for Jimin. It was an easy drug for Jimin to become addicted to.

“You’re perfect,” his ex would say, “you’re perfect in every way,”

Jimin was beautiful, amazing, and _perfect_ whenever he was with his ex. He was new and improved with every word his ex would murmur. He wasn’t the dull and unloved Jimin who greeted him whenever he got back to his empty apartment from their dates. He wasn’t the son tossed away or the brother ignored, Jimin was loved and he loved his ex in return.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

His ex’s heart was put into a glass jar, filled with a liquid that Jimin imagined would preserve it.

“So you’ll remember,” Yoongi says, twisting a lid onto the jar. Yoongi then walks over and places the jar on an empty shelf next to one of the large industrial refrigerators.

Once done, Yoongi walked casually back to Jimin’s ex and folded close the chest cavity. He leans over, staring down the body for a few seconds before sighing out in irritation. Jimin only watches as Yoongi makes his way over to the sink, snaps his gloves off and rinses his hands. Yoongi peeks over his shoulder during the process and beckons Jimin over with a nudge of his head.

It feels nice, the way the warm wash cloth wipes away the blood coating Jimin’s forearm and the small splatter on his cheek. Yoongi finishes cleaning Jimin more quickly than what Jimin would have liked, but Yoongi then turns completely towards him and meets Jimin’s gaze straight on. There’s a growing silence until Yoongi breaks it.

“What an idiot,” Yoongi murmurs, looking over Jimin’s features, “what an idiot to think that drugs would be better than having you,” The words hit Jimin like a million bricks. His heart can't help but clench and flutter.

“You do know I won't hurt you, Jimin, ever. But, in order for me to do that, I need you to promise me something,” Yoongi licks his lips, eyes darkening in a familiar but inexplicable manner, “I need you to promise me that you won’t leave me. I will cherish all of you, as long as you stay by my side, do you understand?”

Jimin nods immediately, looking down to his feet sheepishly but Yoongi’s hands reach out and bring Jimin’s face back up.

“Say it,”

“I-I promise,” Jimin whispers out, his gaze failing to remove itself from Yoongi’s lips.

“Promise what?” Yoongi insists, his fingers leaving Jimin’s jaw so they can lace themselves into Jimin’s hair. They tangle tightly, sharply and maybe desperately. Yoongi may lean in closer and closer, but their lips still linger inches apart.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” Jimin lowly whispers again, his lips brushes against Yoongi’s as he pronounces the words.

“Good,” and then Yoongi leans back and steps away from Jimin. Jimin feels his breath catch in his throat and a tingle that begs to be touched on his lips.

Yoongi now has his back to Jimin, hands on his hips with his attention solely focused on Jimin’s ex. Yoongi sighs distastefully again before grabbing a cellphone from a pant pocket. He swiftly holds it against his ear after a few taps.

“Cancel the rest of your clients,” Yoongi says into the phone stiffly. Jimin walks forward, hesitation in each step, until he’s right behind Yoongi. He reaches a hand towards Yoongi’s free and tightly clenched fist, but stops himself short.

“ _Yes_ you can, and you _will_ because I told you to,” and then Jimin’s floating hand is clasped within Yoongi’s. Jimin felt so much lighter right then, despite Yoongi still not sparing him a glance.

“I need you to wipe the tapes at Jimin’s place, and then destroy the security cams,”

Jimin startles at the sound of his name and knits his brow together in confusion. Just who was Yoongi talking to?

“And if anyone asks, you had a long emergency counselling session with Jimin and treated him to dinner,”

Jimin’s eyes immediately widen at the realization and Yoongi turns his head just in time to take in Jimin’s shock.

“Stop your scolding already, he’s with me and he’s just fine and dandy. He’ll continue to be if you do exactly as I told you, do I make myself clear?” And then Yoongi hangs up, eyes coolly looking down at their joined hands and the grip tightens.

“It’s go time,” Yoongi nods with yet another sigh, “I’m usually a little more prepared, but I’ve always got a few tricks up my sleeves.”  A smirk flashes right before Yoongi lets go of Jimin’s hand.

Yoongi walks across the room and Jimin simply stands where he is as Yoongi busies himself. A large cupboard produces an equally large black duffel bag that Yoongi hunches over his shoulder. With scary precision, Yoongi unstraps the ex’s body and stuffs it into the duffel bag. Yoongi zips the bag up and lifts the bag with only a little effort shown, as if there wasn’t an at least 100 pound body within it.

But, Jimin’s conscience unwillingly reasons that Yoongi was probably used to carrying things like bodies around.

“Come on,” Yoongi says softly as he passes by Jimin, “let’s get out of here.”

Jimin looks after Yoongi as he marches up the stairs. He glances over his shoulder to the chrome room and the slightly stained but empty metal table. Shivers run up and down Jimin’s body violently and trigger Jimin to bolt after Yoongi.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The car ride is silent aside from the easy listening radio station playing in the background. Jimin’s thoughts are whirling as he stares at the setting sun, but he wills all his thoughts to not think about the body in the trunk.

“What are you thinking about?” Yoongi pipes up when they start to drive into a more densely populated area of the city.

Jimin darts his eyes to Yoongi before darting it back to the windshield.

“I’m thinking about you,” he answers honestly, “and about…what you do. And why you do it.”

Jimin thinks he should be allowed these thoughts too. Wouldn’t any other average person think the same? But Yoongi doesn’t reply right away. He takes his time, formulating an answer and then he replies, “I don’t want to keep any more secrets from you,” the words are low and pressing, “but, this conversation will require…time, and I’m afraid we’re a little short on it right now,”

Yoongi then pulls up into a driveway of an old but posh looking house. The engine is cut and Yoongi turns towards Jimin. The gaze Yoongi pins Jimin with is calculating before it softens with the sound of Yoongi’s seatbelt unbuckling. Yoongi leans his body over the centre console and Jimin feels his body tense up the closer Yoongi gets. A hand cups Jimin’s cheek and Jimin’s eyes are back on Yoongi’s lips. They’re so close and Jimin can’t help his desire to _taste_ them. His eyes close slowly and once they fully shut, Jimin feels a light pressure on his forehead.

“Just wait a little longer,” Yoongi whispers against Jimin’s forehead and Jimin can feel the intense heat of embarrassment wash over his cheeks and neck. Yoongi then pulls away and exits the car, allowing Jimin to breathe normally again. He watches as Yoongi strolls over to Jimin’s side of the car and then Jimin’s door is open. Jimin quickly fiddles with his seat belt and gets out of the car.

Instead of leading Jimin to the front door, Yoongi follows a stone path that runs along the side of the house. They reach a side door and Yoongi enters a code into the pin code lock. It beeps happily and flashes green before Yoongi turns the knob and opens the door.

The kitchen they find themselves in is nice, but Jimin feels like something is off. His eyes catalogue his surroundings and the décor just isn’t matching up to what he expects from Yoongi.

“Is this your home?” Jimin finds himself asking cautiously, eyeing the glass stove top, which Jimin is sure Yoongi has shown distaste for in the past. Yoongi only smirks over his shoulder and continues further into the home. Yoongi opts to leave his shoes on as he goes, but Jimin on impulse removes his before he speed-walks after him.

The living room is cozy and traditional, with a few fine arts touches that remind Jimin of something, until he recalls what that something is.

“Namjoon…”Jimin whispers out, reading over the philosophical titles taking up the majority of a large bookshelf.

“Didn’t take you too long to figure out,” Yoongi snorts with that smirk growing, he then waves a hand over to a couch, “have a seat.”

Jimin immediately sits down and the smile Yoongi quickly graces Jimin with causes him to flush once more.

“You tired?” Yoongi asks, his hand reaching forward and brushing through Jimin’s hair. The little scratch from Yoongi’s blunt nails against his scalp is soothing and pleasant. Jimin’s hums out a response, closing his eyes as the fingers continue to work through his hair.

“Get some sleep,” Yoongi whispers, “you’ll need it for tomorrow.” Jimin’s eyes blink open in curiosity and is greeted with Yoongi staring intently at Jimin’s forehead, “be a good boy and listen to what Namjoon tells you, okay? You can do that for me, right?”

Jimin nods immediately, fatigue drifting through his mind more strongly with every passing second. Jimin holds back a whine when the fingers pause before finding their way to Jimin’s jaw.

“Good boy,” is breathed across his forehead and Yoongi’s lips lightly press onto it shortly after. A warmth clenches at Jimin’s heart while a shiver runs through his body. Jimin is filled with such wanting for something, anything more but he _can’t_.  

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Jimin wakes to the pleasant tunes of classical music, lowly playing from another room. He turns his head a little to eye the faux fur blanket draped across his body and a glass of water innocently sitting on a wooden coffee table.

Images of his ex race through his mind and the air around him feels and tastes thinner. He bolts up quickly, attempting to breathe steadily while his shaky hand reach for the water. He downs it in a few seconds flat and smacks the empty glass onto the table. He turns his head to where the music is resonating from and finds himself getting a glimpse of the kitchen.

Jimin lets time stand still, hands curling into fists on his lap. He’s not sure what the future holds for him now, but--he’s certain he can trust Yoongi with it. Yoongi hinted he had a plan, just like he always seemed to have. Yoongi was exact and precise with all his actions. Motives and reasons weren’t shared, but Jimin knows he has to trust that Yoongi will take care of him. Yoongi said so. Jimin just has to do as he’s told and Yoongi will be there for him.

And that’s all that needs to matter, Jimin reassures himself, Yoongi needs Jimin’s obedience and Jimin will have Yoongi’s care in return. It’s selfish, but Jimin thinks he deserves to be a little selfish.

The kitchen looked as it did the day before, but with the addition of Namjoon sitting at his dining table with a coffee and newspaper close-by.

“Ah,” Namjoon says, without looking up from his newspaper, “did you sleep well?”

Something grips tightly at Jimin’s gut. He hasn’t seen Namjoon since the session where he realized Yoongi and Namjoon knew each other. Jimin wonders if it’s the residual betrayal that’s making him queasy, or the fact that Namjoon’s acting completely nonchalant given the circumstance.

“Did you destroy tapes okay?” Jimin blurts out from across the kitchen. Namjoon still doesn’t look up from his newspaper, obviously not rising to Jimin’s bait.

“Why don’t you have a seat?” Namjoon sighs instead, and then looks up to Jimin, “we have a lot to talk about.”

Jimin nibbles a little on his bottom lip, slightly stubborn and upset.

_\--be a good boy and listen to what Namjoon tells you, okay?_

Jimin gulps down his pride and sits down next to Namjoon. The classical music only fills the space between them for a few seconds. Jimin can feel eyes scanning his face and he hopes his expression doesn’t show anything. There’s a painting on the wall across from him. It’s a still life of varying fruits in different states of decay. A little morbid for a place designed for eating.

A rustle of papers catches Jimin’s ear and then, placed flat in front of him, is the newspaper Namjoon was just reading.

“Let’s start here,” Namjoon says soothingly, calmly and it just _grates_ at Jimin.  But, with his jaw clenched, he lowers his gaze and eyes the large front page article.

 

> **Angel Killer Found!**
> 
> _This morning, the body of the infamous Angel Killer was found in pieces.._  
>  —said to be long-time drug user..  
>  —ethod consistent with cartels…  
>  —ctims families say they’re glad for a rightful retribut…

 

“Yesterday, you had a…mental meltdown of sorts and contacted me at 4pm. I canceled the rest of my clients, seeing how critical your condition was, and recommended you walk your neighbour’s dogs until I could get to you. According to your personal request, and against what used to be my well-known professionalism, we decided to have an intensive session in my humble abode instead of my office. Fatigued, you stayed the night and have been completely unaware of what’s been going on outside my home until this morning.”

Jimin’s eyes are still on the article, the main photo is a photoshopped collage of his ex’s victims. All smiling and happy, as usual.

“Is that all?” Jimin says drily.

Namjoon leans back in his chair with a pause, “The investigators are waiting on me to bring you in,” Oh joy, “the only details I’ve shared with you is that your ex killed your guard and then got onto the wrong side of his drug dealers.”

Jimin takes a deep breath in and feels his eyes tear up. God, he’s just so… _tired_.

“Please,” Jimin mumbles, his throat constricting as a video of his ex’s heart in his hands plays in his mind, “please tell me this is the beginning of the end,” and finally he looks to Namjoon, pleading his god damn hardest with his stare.

But Namjoon’s expression is blank. Another pause and Namjoon stands from his chair, “let’s go,” he says, steady and stern.

Jimin should have known Namjoon wasn’t one to give into Jimin and whisper silly white lies.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The investigators are different. It’s making Jimin uncomfortable. The room they’re in is the classic interrogation style you see in all the movies and TV shows. Chrome table, uncomfortable chairs, a video camera in the top corner and papers neatly piled on one side of the table. The duo, _why is it always two of them_ , are the same two that always bombarded Jimin with questions, that were reworded every possible way to catch Jimin in a lie.

But now, they’re demure and loose. The questions they pose are scripted and dull, no answer Jimin gives gets an eyebrow twitch or a displeased frown. The two investigators make the entire questioning session tick by and by. It’s weird.

“Thank you, Mr. Park,” one investigator finishes after writing Jimin’s previous statement and closes a manila folder, “thank you for all your help throughout the entirety of this investigation. We know we haven’t been the most…pleasant to be around,” no kidding, Jimin sneers in his mind, “but you must understand it was all in the name of catching the man who tortured and killed so many.”

One hand after other is put toward Jimin and he only stares at them with bewilderment. He more shakes the hands out of practice than real intent.

“Let’s hope we don’t see each other again, Park Jimin,” the second investigator smiles something small.

Jimin doesn’t smile back.

Jimin is handed back to Namjoon like a broken toy that needs to be repaired. The two of them headed over to Namjoon’s office with no words exchanged, and Jimin wonders if he should be concerned about how much he’s being dragged about.  Jimin ignores that thought in order to further ruminate about the interrogation. It plays over and over, as Namjoon attempts small talk with Jimin until finally:

“I don’t understand why they were so…so flippant!” Jimin tosses his hands in the air, looking towards Namjoon for the first time since he sat down.

Namjoon crosses his legs within his favourite office chair and rests his chin on his hand, “it’s really not that hard, you only have to imagine yourself in their position.”

Jimin pauses, worrying his bottom lip in thought. He supposes the investigators were under a lot of pressure to catch his ex. He knew they pushed Jimin as hard as they did because the ex kept slipping through their fingers and Jimin was the only solid and consistent thread connecting them to him.

“So, he’s dead and that’s it.” Jimin replies, “all that hard and immaculate work gets cut down to signed off paperwork and claps on the shoulder.”

Namjoon shrugs, “would you do it any differently?”

Jimin squints his eyes at Namjoon when he’s realizes that Namjoon was right once again. Jimin remembers the relief from washing his ex off his hands, both realistically and figuratively, was immeasurable.

“No,” Jimin whispers, “but I wish I would,”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Yoongi is in his kitchen when he finally gets back to his apartment. He’s helped himself to tea that he left from previous visits. Camomile, if Jimin remembers correctly.

“Hello,” Yoongi says, and Jimin swears his eyes soften as they take in Jimin’s slumping figure.

“Hi,” Jimin replies back and then tears fall. Jimin is instantly startled and ashamed. He’s not sure why his eyes are working against him. He’s happy to see Yoongi after so long, “I-I’m so sorry,” he manages to choke out, “I d-don’t know –“ and he can’t get any other word out. Jimin clasps his hand over his mouth and tries to calm himself down. He turns his back to Yoongi as tears continue to fall.

“Hey,” is suddenly whispered into his ear. Jimin gasps and looks over his shoulder to see Yoongi right there, behind and close, “Hey, it’s okay.” Yoongi nearly coos, a hand guides Jimin’s head to Yoongi’s shoulder and another arm wraps tightly around Jimin’s waist, “it’s okay, Jimin. You’ve been through a lot.”

Yoongi’s warmth burns against Jimin, making Jimin grip the back of Yoongi’s shirt even tighter. It’s nice to hear the comforting and validating words Yoongi is sprouting. Jimin _has_ been through a lot and Yoongi…Yoongi has been right there with him. Jimin did as he was told and Yoongi was right there like he promised.

It’s almost as if the warm and sweet breath against his ear, muttering words he’s been desiring to hear for months, mutes the bitter aftertaste lingering in the back of his mouth. The aftertaste that has remnants of rosemary and thyme.  

They share Jimin’s bed that night, side by side. Yoongi allows Jimin to hold his hand as they sleep, still in their regular clothes from the day. Yoongi’s hand is pale with fingers nimble and fine. They’re bony and elegant like that of a pianist or maybe a fine artist. Their grip reminds Jimin on how are precise, rapid and steady they are.

Thoughts take a dark turn, against Jimin’s wishes.

Jimin’s imagination sets the scene back at the abandoned farm house. The trapdoor is opened and down the stairs he goes to see Yoongi. Yoongi’s hands are just as he imagined as they work. They're wrapped in blue surgical gloves that are coated in a deep red. A paring knife then slices into a thigh of a faceless woman, carefully craved out with a practiced slide. The knife works to separate the skin from the muscle and Yoongi places the skin carefully back over the bleeding wound.

Yoongi moves to a counter with the meat in hand, and places it on a cutting board. It’s slowly cut and diced into smaller pieces before it’s tossed into a metal boil. The gloves are snapped off and bare hands mix the contents of the bowl, adding spices and oil here and there as Yoongi continues to hand-stir.

Jimin’s eyes turn to the body, a few meters away. It’s moving, heaving, shaking against the table, causing little noises to remind Jimin that it’s still there. That it’s still alive.

“Here,”

Jimin snaps his attention to the direction of the voice.

Yoongi is smiling to Jimin with the metal bowl in hand.

It’s a slightly red mix of raw meat and spice, delicately shaped into a visually appealing column.

“Beef tartar,” Yoongi says and motions the bowl forward. Jimin averts his gaze away to take in Yoongi’s small smile, and when he looks back down, the tartar is replaced with a pumping and heavily bleeding heart. Jimin gasps and takes a step back as the heart pumps out more and more blood until it overflows the bowl and pours onto the ground.

“Try it,” Yoongi says again, smile unwavering, “it’s delicious.”

And then Jimin wakes up.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Three sessions.

Yoongi told Jimin that he could have three more sessions with Namjoon, for appearance sake. Jimin immediately agrees, no matter how odd the demand was. Yoongi squeezes Jimin’s shoulder with one hand, showing his pleasure in Jimin’s easy acceptance.

It doesn’t go said, but Jimin thinks Yoongi sees Namjoon as an unnecessary addition in Jimin’s life. Why would Jimin need Namjoon anyways? He has Yoongi to confide in and take care of him now.

But, there’s still a part in Jimin that is unsatisfied, a void that leans towards Yoongi every time he’s near and god, Jimin wishes he could even allow himself to imagine what he’s craving.

He tries so hard not to show it. He needs Yoongi to stay with him, so he absolutely can’t let these fleeting moments of carnal desire ruin their relationship.

It’s all that’s been on his mind, though he’ll never admit that to Namjoon when he inquires during their first session. So, instead, Jimin talks about his family. The standard woe-is-me words he’s sprouted before to Namjoon.

“What about your ex?” Namjoon asks, inevitably, “You must be thinking about him.”

Jimin clenches his jaw because he doesn’t actually want to talk his ex either. His words have been hesitant and guarded when he’s usually anything but with Namjoon, so he supposes this is Namjoon taking a shot at Jimin’s barrier, poking and prodding until he caves.

“I have,” Jimin answers, “I feel…sad about him.”

“And why’s that?” Namjoon’s words are inflicted slightly, imitating a surprised tone.

“Is it not sad?” Jimin asks right back, “his life…was a sad thing.”

“Was he sad when he was with you?”

Jimin feels another prod at his defences. Damn Namjoon.

“I didn’t think so,” Jimin looks to his nervously threading fingers and glares at their betrayal, “but then, I suppose he wouldn’t have turned to drugs if he was happy enough,”

“Don’t allow yourself to feel guilty about _his_ choices in life when he was still with you, Jimin,” Namjoon adds, straight and sharp like a knife. It's such an unexpected and piercing quip that Jimin straightens his head up and stares wide-eyed at Namjoon.

“Who says I feel guilty?” Jimin knits his brows together, “I mean, I don’t feel guilty anymore. You _told_ me from the start, I had no part in what he decided to do to those men--.”

“I meant before you left him,” Namjoon nods lightly, “you shouldn’t feel guilty because you were not the reason he turned to drugs in the first place.”

 _'How would you know?’_ hisses out sharply and quickly in Jimin’s thoughts before everything else gets muted. A familiar feeling, one he’s stomped down with all his might, rises again and smothers him.

“Okay,” Jimin whispers, “Okay, it’s not my fault he started doing drugs then,” and then he stands, “thanks for today. I should go.” More accurately, he needs to see Yoongi.

Jimin sneaks a look over his stiff shoulder at Namjoon just before he leaves the office. The sight of Namjoon, jaw clenched and eyes in a near-glare towards the floor is unexpected. Namjoon looks pissed and Jimin doesn’t understand what he could possibly be angry about.

Jimin doesn’t dwell though, because he needs to talk to Yoongi.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The second session is just as awkward. The dynamic between Namjoon and himself has completely changed. What used to be easy, smooth and calming turned into a tense, choppy affair of spread out words.

Jimin puts on airs, giving the impression he’s happier, settled and an overall improved individual since his ex’s death. But, Namjoon and him both know he’s lying through his teeth. Jimin applauds Namjoon for his patience, his façade barely cracking whenever Jimin forces a smile or a laugh. Only at the end of their second session does Namjoon’s face show a familiar glare and tightened jaw.

Whatever, Jimin thinks, serves Namjoon right. Jimin shouldn’t— _won’t_ care about what Namjoon thinks. Namjoon never really cared about Jimin anyways. Jimin was a regular client, who was fed with lies and soothing words. Jimin was a problem needing a solution and then Namjoon would have discarded him.

At least, that’s what Yoongi told him one night, and Yoongi never lies to Jimin.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a quiet Saturday. Jimin is sipping warm green tea while binge-watching a series a coworker recommended. It’s not that great, in Jimin’s humble opinion, but it wastes time until the weekend is over.

He’s about halfway through the first season when his phone buzzes along with a jingle. Jimin reaches over blindly and accepts the call.

“Come outside,” Yoongi’s static-filled voice greets his ear, “I want to take you out,”

“Okay,” Jimin replies back softly, a large smile immediately stretching on his lips, “do I need to dress up?”

“Nope,” Yoongi pops his lips with a mild humour, “come as you are,”

And the call disconnects. Jimin tosses his laptop to the side and looks down to his baggy t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He debated on whether he should make Yoongi wait just a bit longer in order to choose a more flattering attire. A few minutes and Jimin races out the door in one of his figure-hugging jeans and a black oversized boat neck sweater.

Jimin rejoices when Yoongi eyes his exposed collarbone when he enters his car.

“You really didn’t need to change,” Yoongi says after Jimin buckles up. Yoongi chuckles after Jimin visibly deflates at his words, “Sorry, how are you? You look good,”

It’s the simple and easy compliments that Yoongi offers that Jimin loves. They’re so simple that Jimin can’t help but believe them immediately.

“I’m good,” Jimin replies with a small smile, “where are we going this time?”

“You’ll see,” Yoongi says, but there’s something different in his tone. A small shiver runs its course through Jimin’s body and he can’t put a finger on why. Jimin eyes Yoongi this time, in his usual all black attire. It’s casual, but form-fitting. Nothing out of the norm. If anything, Yoongi looks more at ease. He’s humming along with the radio as they drive and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel light-heartedly.

Jimin puts down the window and lets the breeze run through his hair. The drive gets longer and longer and then they’re out of the city. The further they go, the more straight and tense Jimin’s back gets. The road they’re taking is getting more and more familiar.

“Let’s go,” Yoongi says when he turns off the engine.

Jimin doesn’t reply though. He’s too focused on the farmhouse in front of him.   

“Come on,”

Jimin snaps his head around to Yoongi holding the car door open for him. Jimin doesn’t reply again, only staring with wide eyes at Yoongi.

Yoongi sighs, looking a little resigned before leaning towards Jimin. Jimin flinches violently, for some reason, as Yoongi gets closer.

“Jimin,” Yoongi’s body encases itself around Jimin and his car seat, “I told you, no harm will come to you when you’re with me,”

Funny, because Jimin isn’t worried about harm coming onto _him_.

Yoongi unbuckles Jimin’s seatbelt and takes his hand tightly. Jimin’s body moves on its own will and lets Yoongi drag him out of the car and into the farmhouse.

There are no words being exchanged when Yoongi has to pull a little harder to get Jimin down the trap door and into the basement.

The large, chrome room looks very much like it did a few weeks ago. It’s pristine, bright and Jimin doesn’t notice much else because he can’t look away from the struggling body strapped onto a metal table. The very same table his ex was strapped in.

“Oh god,” Jimin whispers out, hands shaking as he covers his gaping mouth. His other hand is tightly, almost painfully, within Yoongi’s, preventing Jimin from bolting.

The veins and muscles of the girl on the table tense and bulge against her restrains. Her shrieks or screams are muffled by a gag, and her eyes are wide and soaked with shed tears. Her naked chest heaves and shudders with every exertion she tries.

A blink and Jimin finds himself in a chair, forced to sit down while his eyes remain on the girl looking, begging with her stare as it’s shared between Yoongi and him.

“Watch,” is all Yoongi whispers into Jimin’s ear from behind.

And Jimin does as he’s told.

Jimin watches as Yoongi puts on a vinyl apron of sorts, a white disposal medical mask, plexiglas safety glasses and his classic blue surgical gloves. Jimin watches as the miniature surgical saw buzzes to life in Yoongi’s hand and easily cuts into the girl’s collarbone. Jimin watches as the blood splatters, the chest tense in pain and fingers curl along to the tune of the girl’s muted cries.

The buzzing stops and the saw is put to the side. What looks to be a dissection knife is taken into one of Yoongi’s bloodied hands and Jimin can’t see much else from the angle he’s sitting from.

“You know,” Yoongi says in between the girl’s now low gurgling and sniffles, “I usually save the heart for the last,” Jimin’s eyes finally look away from the girl to observe Yoongi. Yoongi is still very focused on whatever he’s doing within the girl’s chest cavity. Jimin’s not sure if Yoongi is even directing his words toward him or the girl.

“But, since I have a guest today,” Yoongi continues, his head turning to the girl, “I think we’ll treat ourselves to the main attraction first.”

Yoongi’s arm does a few quick sliding movements, and the body that was shivering, shuddering slowly relaxes into occasional twitches. Then, within a minute, all movement and sound ceases.

Yoongi places the knife to the side, next to the saw, and reaches deeply into the girl’s chest. Yoongi’s back obstructs most of Jimin’s view from that point. Even when Yoongi steps away from the table, Jimin continues looking to the girl. Her eyes are closed, with tears still wet in her long brown hair.

The sound of running water catches Jimin’s ear. His eyes look down and follows droplets of red leading to the sink Yoongi was busying himself in. The water shuts off and gloves are snapped off. Yoongi carefully removes his apron, googles and mask shortly after.

“Come help me, Jimin,” Yoongi looks over his shoulder as he walks towards another counter, where some metal bowls await them. Jimin stands, surprisingly on steady legs and stomach only slightly unsettled, “and grab the smaller knife off the magnetic stripe, the third from the right,”

The knife Yoongi asks for is next to a larger butcher knife. Images of Yoongi slamming the knife clean through the girl’s arm flashes across Jimin’s mind. It startles Jimin enough that he’s nearly rushing to Yoongi with the smaller paring knife in hand.

Yoongi is staring directly at Jimin’s face, accessing and patient. A few tense seconds go by before Yoongi’s hand is up and open for the knife. Once in hand, Yoongi immediately cuts three evenly spaced cuts into the heart. The way Yoongi treats the heart is strange. It’s easy, practiced and it doesn’t match up. It’s a human heart, but looking at Yoongi, Jimin feels like he’s watching a famous chef preparing an uncommon foreign dish on a cooking show.

“Your turn,” Yoongi sighs, placing the knife down, his bare fingers poking into the slits and spreading them open further, “you’re going to use this,” Yoongi lifts a bowl filled with a mix of ingredients, Jimin can only recognize a kind of mushroom and a variety of cheese in it, “and stuff as much as you can,”

Jimin doesn’t move besides one hand twitching at the command. His eyes are glazed as they stare down at the mix. It smells good.

“Please,” Yoongi says lowly as he leans more into Jimin’s space. A hand is warm as it’s placed low on Jimin’s back. It rubs, slow, comforting and enticing.

Jimin’s hands move, again, on their own accord. One hand reaches into the bowl with the mix, cool and slightly oily to the touch. The other hand places itself on the heart and it’s warm to the touch. Jimin isn’t neat about the way he stuffs the heart, but he’s still mindful to not waste any mix. Among the absolute and shrieking horror in stirring in the back of Jimin’s mind, he still desperately craves to please Yoongi.

“Thank you,” is what Jimin gets in return. The hand on his back is gone and Yoongi takes away the baking dish with the stuffed heart.Yoongi splashes something like oil over the heart and sprinkles some spices before he tosses the dish into a black and chrome oven.

Yoongi turns and stands by the oven, hands on his hips as his stare weighs heavily on Jimin. Jimin’s stares back in wait, his hand in front of him, one coated in oil and bites of herbs, while the other is lightly coated in blood.

“Why are you so pretty?” Yoongi says, deadpanned in his observation. Jimin’s heart throbs and god, why must Jimin be like this?

Yoongi slowly makes his way back to Jimin, hands still in front of him, unsure of what to do. Yoongi’s hands reach up and forward, one curls a stray hair behind Jimin’s ear and the other rests gently against Jimin’s cheek.

“You did good,” Yoongi whispers, “You did so good, Jimin,”

And Yoongi kisses him.

Jimin lets out a noise, whether out of surprise or pure happiness, Jimin’s not sure. Jimin’s dirty hands can’t help but grip the back at Yoongi’s shirt in disbelief.  Yoongi pulls back and goes at Jimin’s lips from another angle. The kiss becomes open, wet and the tongue brushing against Jimin’s is making his knees goes weak and shaky.

They separate, though Jimin couldn’t tell after how long. His eyes stay close, trying to memorize the taste and feeling of Yoongi’s lips on his, until they blink slowly open. The eyes looking back at him aren’t what he expected. They’re inquiring and analyzing, a cool gaze that brings shivers of unease back into Jimin’s bones. Then, a small smirk spreads on Yoongi’s flushed lips and the chill is gone.

Yoongi then takes a step back, dragging Jimin with him towards the sink and begins washing Jimin’s hands for him. It’s such an intimate gesture, one that Jimin replays in his mind numerous times, alongside the kiss, as Yoongi guides him back towards the stairs.

“Wait,” Jimin whispers out, the bubble of thoughts finally popping when he catches a glimpse of the motionless girl, “what about her?”

Yoongi looks over his shoulder, hand still firm and pushing on Jimin who was frozen above him on the stairs. Yoongi shrugs his shoulder a little, “don’t worry about it,” and then pushes at Jimin’s back more firmly.

Jimin’s legs move further up the stairs, but his eyes remain on the girl until he can’t see her anymore.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the last session, though Jimin isn’t sure Namjoon knows this yet.

Jimin is looking at his fingernails as he sits within Namjoon’s waiting room. He came directly from work and had a quick call on his walk over with Yoongi about what they should eat for dinner after his appointment. Jimin hasn’t had a chance to see Yoongi since that evening. Jimin marvels at how human memory works. He can recall the fine details of what Yoongi’s lips felt, tasted and looked after their kiss. He still gets the ghost of Yoongi’s hands on his cheeks as they move Jimin’s head to just the right angle. He can’t, however, remember anything but blurry images of the girl’s face and he’s unsure if the mix he stuffed her heart with had olive oil in it.

“Come in,” snaps Jimin back to attention and up he gets, making his way into Namjoon’s counselling office and into the seat Jimin always sits in for their session.

When Jimin’s butt hit the leather seat, a slam from a door makes him jump. Jimin whips around to see Namjoon looking not too pleased as he locks the office door. Namjoon from there is rough and quick with his movements, completely opposite from his usual elegant and sweeping motions.

Jimin waits with wide eyes at Namjoon's obvious change in attitude as Namjoon takes his own seat. His notepad is flipped open, papers crinkling loudly at his unexpected aggression.

“Hello,” Namjoon clips, sharp and curt, not even sparing Jimin a glance as he writes something down on his notepad. Jimin can only stare because what the hell happened to make Namjoon so…upset with him? “How was your week?” Namjoon lets out again, tone dead and void of any infliction.

“Uh,” Jimin manages to get through his gaping shock, “it was…okay,” Jimin feels his eyebrows meet in concern, “how was yours?”

Namjoon finally looks up from his notepad and gives Jimin gaze that’s as blank and empty as his voice, “we’re not here to talk about me, Jimin,” Namjoon says and the coolness of it stings Jimin deeper than he would have liked, “how about three days ago, what did you do then?”

And then it all makes sense.

There was a newspaper on a table in the waiting room, flipped to the third page if Jimin remembers correctly. Namjoon having a newspaper available for his waiting clients is not unusual. What was unusual was the newspaper was two days old, when Namjoon only ever had the newest newspaper articles ready to read.     

Jimin stares at Namjoon dead-on, attempting to read what Namjoon wanted to achieve with his question, “I was at home,” he replies softly, “my coworker recommended this new series—“

“Did you see Yoongi?” Namjoon cuts him off, much to Jimin’s surprise.

Jimin feels his lips pursing with mild frustration, “so what if I did?”

There’s a small pause as Namjoon turns his gaze off to the side, his jaw twitching as it clenches more and then a deep sigh escapes Namjoon. He pockets his pen into his blazer breast pocket quickly and tosses his notebook to the side table next to his chair.

“Jimin,” Namjoon says, a hand now rubbing at his brow, “don’t…don’t do this to yourself.”

“Do what?” Jimin shoots straight back, annoyance now blending into his confusion.

Namjoon finally looks at Jimin in the eyes, but there’s nothing pleasant about his stare, “I know you’re smarter than that,”

“Apparently not,” Jimin breaks their gaze to look to the side.

“This is about _Yoongi_ ,” Namjoon hisses out, “don’t pretend otherwise.”

Yeah, Jimin knows what Namjoon is talking about, he just never thought they would ever approach the topic. It’s the last damn session, why couldn't Namjoon just leave it alone?

Despite this, Jimin suddenly had this is inexplicable need to defend Yoongi to Namjoon. This need that said if Jimin could make Namjoon see reason behind Yoongi and everything around him, then things would be okay. Because if the solid and rational Namjoon would understand and see Yoongi from Jimin’s point of view, maybe the unease from the back of Jimin’s mind would dissipate.

“Yoongi…Yoongi is,” Jimin finds the words stumbling about after a few moments of silence, “he’s nice to me. The nicest anyone has ever been. He treats me well and supports me. He’s…the first friend I’ve had in a long time.” It’s simple but it gets the point across. Jimin can learn to turn a blind eye to other aspects of Yoongi. He can learn to separate his Yoongi and the Yoongi with blue gloves.

“No, Jimin,” Namjoon answers back with a tone so harsh, “you’re wrong. Yoongi isn’t your friend,”

“What do _you_ know?” Jimin angrily hisses out, stung from Namjoon’s words. What did he mean Yoongi wasn’t his friend? Yoongi has done so much for Jimin, where the hell is Namjoon getting off on?

“I _know_ that Min Yoongi is not capable of having real friends, or having any other relation that involves any sort of love or compassion,”

Jimin gapes at Namjoon, completely shocked by such accusations being put against Yoongi, “h-how can you even say that when he’s done so much for—“

“He’s done nothing but laid out plans to manipulate you for his own enjoyment and selfish greed,” Namjoon sharply cuts in again, almost exasperated at that point, “Yoongi, he…he’s been through things that have damaged the way he perceives things. Yoongi cannot form social connections or maintain a moral compass the same way the rest of society does. He’s only gotten as far as he has due to his above average intelligence and what I thought would be everlasting independence, but now…” Namjoon stares at Jimin now with a frown and twisted brow.

“What?” Jimin glares, “now he has me and your ego took a hit because you were wrong for once?”

Because Namjoon _is_ wrong. At least, he’s wrong in some ways. Jimin can’t speak about Yoongi’s moral compass, but whatever is between Yoongi and him is a genuine connection. There’s no way Yoongi would keep Jimin around for this long on a whim. Those soft smiles and light caresses tell a different story. A-and Yoongi _kissed_ him. Jimin won’t allow Namjoon to dismiss that.

“While yes, I can’t explain why Yoongi has decided to involve you,” Namjoon says slowly, “I know for certain that whatever feelings you think Yoongi shares are completely fabricated in order to string you along,”

Jimin purses his lips in frustration, his gut tensing as Namjoon’s words really settle and doubt sinks in with them, “okay,” he starts, “Tell me why. Why is Yoongi not able to have friends?”

"If Yoongi has friends, it's only because he wants it to appear that he has them...Jimin," Namjoon sighs again, "Yoongi is the textbook definition of a psychopath. He is incapable of pro-social feelings, though he can mimic and manipulate others if it will help him achieve his own set of goals," 

"Then what's the point of me then?" Jimin quickly asks back, fingers knotting themselves tighter and tighter, "what goal am I helping him achieve?" 

The look Namjoon gives him in reply isn't very reassuring. Jimin knits his brows together with frustration still flowing. With all of accusations against Yoongi, Namjoon still can't understand Yoongi and Jimin's relationship.

“There are a few conclusions I could draw,” Namjoon starts slowly, “and none of them mean well for you, Jimin.”

“Can’t I be the one to decide that?” Jimin sighs, “I don’t know what it is you have against him but—“

“Yoongi was born into a wealthy family and was homeschooled from the moment he uttered his first words,” Namjoon cuts in sharply, now full-on glaring at Jimin, “His social interactions were limited to the few hours with his tutors, who were taught to be below him from his parents whenever they did appear in his life.”

“W-what are you—“ Jimin tries to interrupt while absorbing Namjoon’s confusing words.

“Things changed when Yoongi was nine. Although I’m not sure the reason, but Yoongi and his parents were flying out on a private flight and the jet crashed. The majority of the small crew died on impact, with the exception of Yoongi, his mother, and a co-pilot.”

Jimin takes a sharp breath in, imagining a small Yoongi, beaten and bloodied underneath a mess of metal sheets and rods.

“Weeks later, a search party found the crash and its sole survivor, Yoongi. They also found some unsettling irregularities about the crash victims bodies; unusual cut marks, missing bits of flesh. But, a generous monetary thank-you from the company Yoongi’s father owned kept the searchers lips sealed and the company’s reputation intact.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Snapshots of the girl from three days ago flicker across Jimin’s eyes, her heaving chest, her makeup and tear crusted eyes, and her splattering blood as Yoongi sawed into her collarbone.

“Yoongi was sent off to a boarding school by some relatives, and that’s where the story ends,”

Jimin’s gaze stares at that familiar painting behind Namjoon’s head, his hands now gripping his knees tightly and his bottom lip bleeding between his teeth.

“I think we’re done here,” Jimin breathes out finally, “it’s been over an hour,” and he stands up, back stiff and straight.

“Jimin,” Namjoon says in the softest tone Jimin has ever heard him use, “if there is just one thing I want you to remember today, let it be this,” he takes a deep breath and looks into Jimin’s eyes with mild and uncharacteristic desperation, “You are not unlovable, Jimin, it is Yoongi who cannot love.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay.  
> hi.  
> goodness.  
> im so sorry for such the long wait AND ITSNOT EVEN DONEEEE.  
> tbh, ive had a tough few months in relation to this fic. had a personal irl issue that barred me from writing this since its such a crime and psych heavy fic. i also got caught up in a fic exchange that i kind of pinch hitted for? twice? oops?  
> im losing some motivation too, mostly because this fic IS hard to write. some of you ask how i do it annnnd i dont know myself? i do absolutely love writing it but its still hard? so i thought, lets divide part three into two because you guys are waiting and yeah. here's this. i DO know how i'm ending this fic, so it shouldn't be as long of a wait for the finale. bumbumbumm. 
> 
> thank you so so sos osososo much for all your support and patience. please dont be shy to comment and/or kudo because a little motivation helps me to write. rereading comments always gets me going again. but don't feel pressured either. this fic will be finished even if it KILLS me. 
> 
> ps: Yoongi's back story was inspired by the 1972 Andes Plane Crash Accident. if you're into some grime real life survivor stories, feel free to look into it.  
>  **pss: UPDATED TAGS (ie: MCD!!!!) you've been warned!**  
>  psss: my [ask.fm](http://ask.fm/mauvetarte/) is always open if you have questions and want me to reply. its the only place i reply. idk. love you guys kay?


	4. Dopo (Seconda Parte)

 

 

Yoongi could see something was wrong with him. Why wouldn’t he? Jimin could barely hold his gaze for a more than a split second since they had started eating at a little Italian bistro downtown. Jimin’s hands were uncharacteristically quivering as he spun his fork around his vegetarian linguine dish, one Yoongi snorted at when Jimin ordered.

“Jimin,” Yoongi drawled out his name slowly, setting his utensils aside.

“Yes?” Jimin replied lowly, flickering his gaze up almost politely before focusing on his pasta again.

There’s a silence that builds and Jimin finds himself dropping his own utensils lightly and stringing his restless fingers together in his lap.

“It’s Namjoon, isn’t it?” Yoongi clicked his tongue distastefully and reached forward to take a sip of his wine, “Jimin, you trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Jimin blurts out quickly, his fingers now grabbing onto his slacks in a death grip.

“Then, would you please look at me?”

The request is so soft that Jimin’s eyes can’t help but obey and look upon Yoongi. Unlike his tone, his eyes are blank, empty, and terrifyingly reminiscent.

Yoongi tilts his head and holds onto Jimin’s gaze as he leans back into his chair, “what happened with Namjoon today?”

Jimin takes a deep yet shaky breath in and out, eyes blinking more than usual, “we…we talked about you,”

“What about me?” Yoongi shoots back in rapid fire.

Jimin blinks to the side for just a second and his mouth hangs open as words attempt to gather, “He, Namjoon told me about you, your, um, parents and stuff.”

Jimin could more see a crack rather than hear it in Yoongi’s expression, a crack that allowed Jimin to peer into something red, hot, and burning.

“He…told you about my past then?” Yoongi replies back with an almost exaggeratedly even tone. Jimin quickly nods and lets out another quick sigh with something like relief washing over him.

Yoongi slowly nods back from there and finally breaks eye contact, staring off to the side absently which gave Jimin a view of his tightening jaw.

“Anything else?” Is said between them after about a minute of silence and stillness.

Jimin quickly licks his drying lips in nervousness and debates internally for a few moments before he replies, “Do you…what am I to you?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, utter mortification shakes Jimin’s body. His cheeks and ears burn so hot and embarrassed, because god, what was Jimin even hoping to hear in reply? Yoongi is appearing to be the opposite of what Jimin is feeling; calm, cool, and collected. Those eyes trace Jimin’s features, absorbing whatever it is Yoongi wanted to take in about Jimin’s expression.

“Don’t mind what Namjoon has told you,” Yoongi says smoothly and a hand slides its way across the table and opens up its palm, “what do you want to be to me?”

Jimin looks to the outstretched palm and his own hand inching towards it. Yoongi’s hand shows to be quicker by reaching out that much further and grips onto Jimin’s hand comfortably. A thumb then caresses against Jimin’s knuckles softly.

“Jimin,”

Immediately, Jimin’s eyes snap away from their entwined hands and meets with Yoongi’s heavy gaze.

“You are whatever you want to be to me,” his voice is the most gentle of whispers, so sweet in the air that it send shivers down Jimin’s spine. Jimin’s hand is then dragged across the small dining table to brush against Yoongi’s lips, “you are that, and so much more.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
A week goes by.

Yoongi and him have dinner at Jimin’s apartment.

Jimin can’t bring himself to eat any of the meat dishes Yoongi prepares that night.

Yoongi leaves with a blank expression, but Jimin can recognize the silent fuming.

 

 

 

 

 

The next week, they go out for a simple coffee date of sorts.

Jimin mentions how his coworker got a new cat.

They share a laugh over a stupid cat picture that said coworker had shared on their social media.

Jimin somehow let Namjoon’s name slip into the conversation and everything suddenly went stale.

Yoongi’s responses are from there were clipped, tense and dry until they parted their separate ways.

 

 

 

  
Jimin finds himself insisting on meeting up with Yoongi.

Yoongi offers to drive him, pick him up, drop him off, and move him wherever in his slick, black sedan, but Jimin always politely declines.

Yoongi finally stops offering.

 

 

  
Jimin cares for Yoongi, he sincerely cares and craves for Yoongi to the deepest of his core.

But, his stomach is traitorous and lurches at the sight of meat now.

He has come to miss Namjoon and the particular way he explained things.

And, behind every windshield, Jimin can’t help but see an outline of a weathered farmhouse.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Yoongi’s latest kill makes it on the first page this time.

Jimin supposes since his ex is dead and gone, Yoongi’s crimes will be the next to be sensationalized. If anything, Yoongi certainly makes his end result something worth photographing in the most grotesquely beautiful way.

Sort of like him, Jimin comes to realize as he reads about how the female yoga instructor will be missed in her community. She had been preparing to go away on a faraway trip with a yoga master or something, Jimin couldn’t be bothered to really remember those details.

The photographs, on the other hand, were something Jimin could recall with fine detail.

The instructor’s serenely expressed face was surrounded by flowers, full-bloomed and colourful in their arrangement. What looked to be her blood was used to paint on henna-like designs on her fingers, hands, and up her arms. Her hands were open and resting on her chest with her heart lying in the center, though majority of the newspaper outlets had chosen to mosaic and blur that out.

No images are found depicting it, but some articles chose to go into details about how the abdomen had been filled with fresh leafy greens like spinach and kale, with the addition of delicately placed slices of strawberries and carrots for added colour. An insider source shared that the sharp but creamy lemon-poppy dressing had an unusually high composition of fat, fat which was speculated to be extracted from the victim.

Despite all their differences on censorships and decorum, all the articles had two statements in common; that the murderer was still active, and that the police had no leads.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
Jimin takes note of the salad within the Tupperware container as soon as Yoongi steps into his apartment. Yoongi breezes past him, removing the nice plates from their place in the cabinet and sets the kitchen table as Jimin stands by.

“Please Jimin,” Yoongi pleas softly after he poured the dressing over the top of Jimin’s salad, “please eat it,”

Jimin manages to lift a fork with a steady hand.

Jimin knows he can do this. He can eat it. All he has to do is imagine that there’s a normal salad on his plate. It certainly looks that part, with no chicken or steak-like pieces in sight, just spinach, kale, strawberries and carrots.

His fork pierces one piece of kale and Jimin raises it to his mouth. His nose picks up on the sour notes of lemon and his hand pauses. The dressing drizzled was a thick and creamy beige with specks of black poppy seeds.

Jimin opens his mouth and a flavour bursts onto his tongue. The tartness of the lemon and crispness of the kale mixes and then there’s this phantom taste on the back of his tongue. Jimin chews once, twice and the phantom salty, rustic taste strengthens. Jimin looks down on his plate and visions of blood flashes across the greens.

The sounds of Jimin choking and coughing into his paper towel napkin fill the kitchen right then.

Yoongi stands up, with the plates and utensils clattering on the table at his sudden movement. For a few moments, the ghost of Jimin’s ex takes on Yoongi’s face, with it being so cold yet furious. It causes Jimin to shiver with dread and lean further away in his chair. Yoongi glares with an especially deep scowl as Jimin distances himself even further back before Yoongi turns around.

“Y-yoongi,” Jimin croaks out helplessly from his chair, watching as Yoongi grabs at his coat from the back of his own chair.

“I have some business to attend to,” Yoongi replies as cooly as his expression, but he doesn’t spare Jimin a glance.

“Please,” Jimin tries again, with more volume as his heart beats rapidly, “please wait—”

“Enjoy the rest without me,” and then Yoongi is gone with a soft click of Jimin’s front door following him.

 

 

 

 

 

  
_Please leave a message after the tone—_

_“Yoongi, i-it’s Jimin. I just…please call me back.”_

_Next message—_

_“I’m sorry, it’s me, Jimin again. I…I ate it. I ate the salad after you left. Can you come back? Please?”_

_Next message—_

_“Yoongi, I—It was …really good. Just like everything else you make, okay? I’m just, I’m sorry Yoongi. Please, don’t leav—”_

_End of messages._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next evening, Jimin opens his front door to Yoongi with a bouquet of flower in one hand and a takeout bag in the other.

“Hey,” Yoongi smiles something crooked and hands over the bouquet.

Jimin just shakes his head and can feel the tears building in his eyes. He steps forward and accidentally knocks the flowers out of Yoongi’s hand as his arms race around Yoongi’s neck.

“I thought...” Jimin murmurs off into Yoongi’s shoulder and sniffles loudly.

“Shh,” Yoongi whispers and a warm hand presses into the base of Jimin’s spine, “everything’s going to be okay now,”

“Please,” Jimin whispers hoarsely back, “please don’t…” don’t leave me alone.

“I won’t.”

From there, they enjoy dinner together. It’s from their favourite Thai restaurant and Yoongi bought so many different dishes that Jimin is sure there will be enough leftovers to last a whole week. It takes a little effort to eat the dishes containing meat, but Jimin does it. He makes sure to comment about how tender a beef piece is to Yoongi, in a not-so subtle maneuver to redeem himself.

Jimin doesn’t know how Yoongi does it, but despite recent event between them, Yoongi presents himself as usual. He’s back to the charming and slightly sarcastic Yoongi with not one trace of anger or frustration. He asks Jimin his typical inquiring questions, that makes Jimin feel special and mostly believe that Yoongi genuinely cares about the shows he binge-watches, or how that one person he surveyed complimented him on his voice.

Jimin is so grateful, so relieved that Yoongi didn’t give up on him.

“Make sure you finish everything,” Yoongi says by the entrance as he puts his coat on, “I won’t have you go hungry now,”

Jimin isn’t sure if those words are to be taken as a jab for Jimin’s recent wrongdoings, but the way Yoongi looks at him with a small smirk softens that suspicion.

“I’ll try,” Jimin smiles back, “my coworkers do like sneaking some bites here and there though,”

Yoongi hmms back and starts to inch closer to Jimin, causing hairs on the back of Jimin’s neck to raise.

“Nope,” Yoongi whispers as his face approaches, “only for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Jimin whispers back, stock-still as his eyes watch Yoongi’s lips move into a small, close-lipped smile.

“Good,” Yoongi says lowly, lips brushing against Jimin’s before they fully press against them.

Jimin can’t help the sigh that escapes him. The feeling he’s experiencing can barely be put into words because it’s so euphoric, so good Jimin can’t believe it’s real. Yoongi’s hand grips the back of Jimin’s neck and tilts it in a way that feels more than perfect and Yoongi’s other hand grips at one of Jimin’s. It’s a possessive grip, with interlaced fingers as they drag Jimin closer.

After however long, Yoongi moves back and away with his telltale crooked smirk. He whispers a good night with one more quick peck before he opens Jimin’s door and leaves.

Jimin sways as he stares at the closed door and his shoulder connects with a wall. He’s licking his lips, running his tongue back and forth because out of everything Jimin has tasted, Yoongi is by far his favourite.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
After a particularly long shift, Jimin is finally free to go home. He tosses his blazer overtop of his white button-up with a sigh as he rolls his aching shoulders. He smiles and nods goodbye to the evening shift workers coming in and make small chat with a work acquaintance in the elevator ride down to the ground level. The walk home is pleasant enough, a little chilly but unwinding nonetheless. Jimin feels his phone buzz in one of his pockets and immediately smiles as he rushes to pick up the call.

“Hey,” he says quietly into the phone.

_“Hello hello, how was your day?”_

“Trying…it’s like everyone I got through to woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,”

_“Well, I feel like both sides of the bed are the wrong one when I wake up, but that might just be me,”_

“Might explain why you’re perpetually grumpy and tired all the time,” Jimin teases, knowing full well how wide and fond his smile is to passerbys.

_“For that, no dinner for you tonight,”_

“Eh, come on,” Jimin taps his key toggle against his apartment building entrance lock before entering, “you know it’s true,”

_“Why do I feed you again?”_

Jimin snickers as he pushes on his floor number in the elevator, “I don’t know, why do you feed me?”  
  
_“God, you’re a brat. Go hungry for all I care,”_

“I think you’d care a lot if I went hungry,” Jimin lowers his tone, less playful than before and maybe unintentionally hopeful.

“ _Well_ ,” and a long sigh echoes in his ear, _“ain’t that the sad truth,”_

The elevator’s doors open as Jimin starts to laugh. He’s about to reply when he looks up and see two men lingering outside his apartment door. Jimin feels his body seize immediately and the phone in his hand drops.

“Shit,” Jimin whispers as he quickly grabs his thankfully not broken phone off the floor.

“ _Jimin_?”

The two men look over to Jimin curiously and Jimin can feel his heart pulsing rapidly in his throat. Jimin stares at them before he says “I-I’ll talk to you later, “ and hangs up his phone.

Jimin continues to stand in front of the elevator awkwardly as the two men raise eyebrows. He takes a deep breath in and out and then approaches.

“Hello,” he says so lowly he wonders if the men heard him, “can I help you?”

“Park Jimin?” One of them asks and at Jimin’s nod, they both flash their badges, just like Jimin thought they would.

“You knew a Kim Namjoon, correct?” The other asks, eyeing Jimin in a familiar manner that raises the hairs on the back of Jimin’s neck.

“Yes,” Jimin replies, although confused. He then chances a glance over his shoulder, “how…long have you been waiting? Did the neighbours…”

“Not long at all, Mr. Park,” the first man, dressed in a beige trench coat replies, “but we’re happy to take this inside if you would like,”

Without a word, Jimin nods and pulls out his keys. A million thoughts are whirling in his head as he enters into his apartment with two officers behind him.

“Water?” Jimin asks as he takes his shoes off. He’s already thinking of ways to call Yoongi back for help, advice or anything.

“No need, we won’t be taking much of your time,” the second officer, with a fancy glittering watch visible from his wrists, “we only had a few questions regarding Mr. Kim that we hoped you could answer,”

Jimin is only further confused as the two men stand comfortably inches away from the door, because every time Jimi tries to come up with a reason why they’re bothering Jimin again, it doesn’t add up.

“I can…try?” Jimin stiffly stands in front of them, scratching at one elbow, “I mean, I don’t know Namjoon very well, so, I don’t know if I’ll be much help?”

“You were a frequent client of his, correct?” The trench coat officer perks up, “we figured you two were a little close, since a report stated he once housed you in his own home during a breakdown,”

Jimin can feel his defences rising, unsure of what they were looking for so Jimin decided to keep things simple, “We weren’t close, I was a client, and that’s it,”

“When was the last time you met him?” The watch officer then asks.

“I haven’t seen him since our last appointment over a month ago,” Jimin answer crisply, and maybe a little sour.

“And nothing in between?” The watch officer says, hinting for something that Jimin can’t grasp.

“No, we decided that I didn’t need his…services anymore,”

The two of them then sighed, looking more resigned.

“All right then,” the trench coat officer offered a small smile, “thank you for your time, Mr. Park,”

“W-wait,” Jimin blurts out as his front door is opened, “why…are you asking me about Namjoon?”

The two of them share a look and Jimin can see the identical looks of unease across their faces.

“I suppose it’s better to find out sooner than later,” one of them whispers to the other.

With another sigh the trench coat officer turns to Jimin with a grim expression, “I’m sorry to be the one to share this with you, Mr. Park,but…Mr. Kim, or Namjoon, was murdered in his office two nights ago,”

Jimin’s jaw drops as everything around him blurs. The officers say other things before they let themselves out but Jimin can barely process their words. All he can think of is that Namjoon, that infuriating and complex man, was dead.

 

 

 

Jimin knows he shouldn’t dwell on it, much less let one stray thought relating to Namjoon cross his mind. He was just one of the wedges in Yoongi’s and his relationship. Namjoon didn’t actually care about him, Jimin reminded himself, he was a broken person that Namjoon held together out of pity and occupational obligation.

Leave it be. Let Namjoon and everything Jimin knew about him lie six feet under somewhere and stay there. Except Jimin has his curiosity itching and scratching at him, asking questions that Jimin shouldn’t think about. Before he knows it, Jimin is sitting up in his bed late at night while scrolling down different news articles on his phone.

Two shots, the words read, one to the head and one to the heart from a run-of-the-mill pistol.  
The articles speculate motives and possible suspects, but Jimin doesn’t read much into them. He got the answer he wanted from there and a tension eases from him.

Jimin turns his phone off and gets cosy under his covers. He falls asleep relatively quick and stays that way, because among Yoongi’s arsenal of weapons, Jimin doesn’t think a gun is one of them.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

It’s the end of the work week, which has Jimin unlocking his apartment door while humming a tune. He’s especially eager to change out of his pressed slacks and tight button-up, and into a big sweater and comfortable sweatpants since the weather had gotten chilly.

The door opens and Jimin finally shuffles off his stuffy work shoes. He wiggles his toes with a pleased sigh and takes a step forward when he hears and feels a crinkle under one of his feet. Looking down, puzzled, Jimin lifts the foot to see an yellowing envelope under it.

 _To Jimin_ , is written on the front in a pretty cursive and that’s all Jimin can see when he bends and picks it up to inspect. There’s not one address, to or from, no postal stamp or anything else. Jimin snaps his head up and looks around anxiously. As a precaution, he clutches his work bag close to his chest, envelope still in hand and searches through his apartment for something, or someone, out of place. Once cleared, Jimin sits on his couch, eyes switching between looking around his living room and the envelope in hand. It’s thin, and putting up against a light source only reveals it to be even more like a regular handwritten letter. So, Jimin sighs and tears the envelope open.

The envelope produces a neatly folded white piece of paper, with the same cursive writing as the envelope. Jimin looks over his shoulder one more time before squinting his eyes to read.

_“Jimin,  
If you’ve received this letter, I’ve passed on and I apologize for not properly bidding you farewell—"_

Jimin feels himself take a deep breath in, realizing just who the letter was from. He looks up again, uneasy and hesitant, but his eyes are compelled to continue reading the words on the paper.

_“—I wish you the best and sincerely hope that you wish the same upon yourself as well. Because if you do, my final advice as your psychologist and as your friend, is to not leave with Yoongi—”_

A series of knocks startles Jimin, crumpling the paper in his hands as he jumps. He then stills as he looks towards where his entrance would rest beyond the walls. He slowly stands and jumps again when knocks sound off again, but louder and more incessant. Jimin hurries over to his front door as the knocks continue without pause and finally unlocks and opens the door.

“Hey,” Yoongi drawls, tone low and dangerous, with his brows scrunched together and Jimin freezes when he recognizes the familiar silent fuming behind his otherwise neutral expression. Before Jimin can open his mouth to greet Yoongi with his confusion and concern, Yoongi pushes past him and deeper into his apartment. “Where’s your passport?” Yoongi asks loudly from the kitchen, pulling at the drawers where Jimin stores various documents, takeout and electronics instructions menus.  
“Um,” Jimin says, slowly approaching Yoongi from behind as his searching almost becomes frenzied, “Yoongi?”

Yoongi slams a drawer shuts and turns to Jimin sharply, eyes looking him up and down until his eyes zero in on the letter still within Jimin’s hand.

“What’s that?”

Jimin switches his gaze between the letter and Yoongi, his mouth hanging open and ready for replying, but nothing comes out. Yoongi sees the hesitation, stomps forward and rips the letter away from Jimin. The sound of the letter crinkling is loud along with Yoongi’s deep and even breaths. Yoongi’s eyes race across the page before the letter is crumpled into a ball within one of Yoongi’s fists.

“Yoongi—"

“That _fucker_ ,” Yoongi hisses lowly with his teeth visibly gritting, “couldn’t just stay dead, could he?” His tone is venomous and Jimin feels shivers running up and down his spine. His hands quiver more from impulse than reason at his sides, because Jimin reminds himself that Yoongi isn’t something he should be scared of.

The letter is shoved into one Yoongi’s back pockets with a violent shove before his sharp stare hits Jimin.

“Get your passport, Jimin” when Jimin remains frozen, Yoongi glares harder, “I don’t think I stuttered; get your passport _now_.”

Jimin unfreezes with a gasp before he’s scrambling to his bedroom. He opens his night-table drawer and grabs at his passport pouch from under an array of knick-knacks. He closes his eyes, hoping a few calming breaths would do what they’re intended for and turns around.

Yoongi is right there behind him, his eyes skimming over Jimin easily. Another blink and Jimin’s passport is taken as well.

“We’re leaving,” Yoongi pockets the passport, briskly walking away and Jimin follows listlessly, “wear your sneakers, that plain black jacket of yours, and a cap,”

“W-where are we going?” Jimin asks when they find themselves in his entrance hallway. One glare over Yoongi’s shoulder and Jimin fumbles to the ground to get his sneakers on.

“Far away,” Yoongi replies, short and clipped.

“How long?” Jimin asks again, “should I call—”

“They found the farmhouse,” Yoongi hisses back, grabbing a black baseball cap with a wall hook and pulling it over and down Jimin’s head just enough so Jimin can’t see Yoongi’s face, “You understand what that means, right?” Yoongi keeps and forces the cap to stay down but Jimin can hear the unevenness in his words, “you trust me, don’t you?”

Jimin can’t stop the nervous gulp he takes and reaches up to the hand keeping his hat down. He slowly grips the wrist and pulls it away, but keep his head facing downward. His hand gently slides along Yoongi’s wrist until fingers slot together and entwine themselves.

Jimin finally looks up and watches Yoongi carefully, “you’re…you’re the only person I do trust,”

The words in Jimin’s mouth taste bitter and sour on his tongue but it’s thanks to them that Yoongi’s shoulders loosen just a little. Yoongi nods once at that and opens the door with his free hand. Jimin quickly grabs his jacket with his free hand and before he knows it, he’s back in Yoongi’s car. They’re speeding down residential streets, Yoongi’s knuckles looking whiter and strained against the steering wheel when his expression only says the opposite.  
  
“This is what’s going to happen, so I will need you to remember everything I’m about to tell you, do you understand Jimin?”

Jimin stares at Yoongi from the passenger seat, gripping tightly at his seatbelt. “Yes,” he replies, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

“If you don’t do as I say, then we’re both fucked, Jimin.” Yoongi turns down an unfamiliar street slowly, but practiced, “You can’t just run away from this, it’s basically impossible without me, okay? These are the dirty, self-serving cops we’re talking about, not some fucked up ex too high to really give a shit, _do you understand Jimin_?”

Jimin’s stomach plummets at the mention of his ex, and stirs uncomfortably. There’s something tightening in him as he looks to Yoongi, like something’s been displaced, a mask shifting, and Jimin thinks, Yoongi sure does know how to manipulate him, doesn’t he? Because Jimin voices his agreement again, more firm and loud than before despite everything.

The car then stops and parks in a driveway. The house they’re in front of is a regular panelled home that has its twin on either side of it and so on down the street. It’s boring, blah, and completely unsuspecting.  
  
Yoongi rips the key out of the ignition and steps out of the car, slamming his door behind him. Jimin scrambles to unclick his seatbelt and follow after Yoongi into the home.

“Don’t touch anything,” Yoongi warns without looking at Jimin as he unlocks the front door. They enter and Yoongi rushes up the stairs, giving Jimin barely enough time to take in his surroundings. But he realizes that, despite the rush, there isn’t much for him to look at because the home is just as dull and bland as its exterior.

“We will leave for the airport,” Yoongi calls over his shoulder, his tone stone cold while pushing another door open. Inside is a pristine bedroom, sterile and quaint with beige bedding and white walls, “I will give you a credit card to purchase a one way ticket to an international destination, an hour later, I will follow after you. You do not know me and I do not know you until we’ve arrived at the destination.”

Jimin watches as Yoongi disappears into a closet and returns back with a grey safety box. A series of numbers are punched into its pin pad and Jimin catches glimpses of assorted papers and what looks to be at least four different passports. Yoongi shuffles through them, picking out a few select papers before he begins speaking again, “Jimin, what are you thinking of right now?”

Jimin twitches a little when Yoongi turns his head and gazes upon him, his hands still in the safety box.

“Nothing,” he replies impulsively when in reality there’s so much going through his mind he can barely string together something coherent enough.

“I find that hard to believe,” Yoongi snorts out and closes the safety box with a thump, “tell me Jimin, or this isn’t going to work,”

The tension increases in the room and Jimin’s skin prickles from it.

“What’s….going on?” Jimin meekly asks, voice barely above a whisper. Yoongi throws his hands in the air and laughs a little under his breath.

“What, seriously?” Yoongi smirks, incredulous with his expression and Jimin feels so stupid, “we’ve been exposed Jimin, so unless you want to be locked away for a long time, we need to –”

“I mean!” Jimin rushes in quickly, knitting his fingers in front of himself as Yoongi stuffs paper into a briefcase he retrieved from under the bed, “what’s going to happen to us, after all this?”

Yoongi sighs once more as he snaps the briefcase close and turns to Jimin again, “is this how you trust me, Jimin?” Jimin’s mouth bobs up and down, trying to defend himself but Yoongi takes a few steps forward and gets into Jimin’s space. Jimin bites down on his bottom lip as he stares into Yoongi’s eyes. The pupils quivers as they look between Jimin’s eyes, they search and search until Jimin sees them finally soften, “It’ll be you and me, Jimin, that’s what’s going to happen. We’ll be together and we’ll be happy, as long as you do as I say, okay?”

Yoongi then breaks away and walks around Jimin to the bedroom door, but Jimin’s hand reaches out and grips onto one of Yoongi’s sleeves. Yoongi snaps his head back and raises an inquiring brow.

“Do you love me?” sprouts out of Jimin’s mouth before he can stop himself.

There’s a moment that hangs in the air, one that has Jimin’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes remain honed in on the sleeve within his grasp.

“Of course I do,” and Yoongi turns his back again, pulling his sleeve away as he continues exiting of the room. Jimin stands there for a few more seconds, the words rolling around in his head. It’s what he always wanted to hear, what he _dreamed_ he would hear from Yoongi, so why does his heart clench and shiver uncomfortably?

Jimin doesn’t remember how they end up in the home’s kitchen, but they’re there and Yoongi is fishing in a drawer for something. A golden card is produced and Yoongi hands it to Jimin nonchalantly. It bares an unknown name to Jimin, really cementing the idea that Yoongi has been prepared for this moment. The moment where his past deeds would be found out, when Yoongi made it seem like it would never happen. The entire situation is making it hard for Jimin to disassociate his Yoongi from the other. This other Yoong, Jimin notices, is methodological yet hurried. There’s sliver of panic behind the other’s mask though, and it’s keeping Jimin’s nerves highstrung.

“Let’s go,” Yoongi finally says, shoving a black leather wallet into his coat pocket. He takes a step forward but suddenly freezes. Jimin watches as Yoongi’s eyes widen on his otherwise still face. Seconds go by and Jimin catches it.

Sirens.

They grew louder, pounding against Jimin’s ear drums with every wailing tone. Yoongi straightens up, but his chest is heaving up and down. His close-mouthed breathing is audible with every intake and Jimin can seeing the mask crumpling. A snarl forms on Yoongi lips and a crystal vase sitting on a counter is picked up and pelted across the room, the crash shocking Jimin into a jump.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_!” Yoongi hisses, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists as they stare behind Jimin and toward the front of the home, “that fucker—he must have—” and Yoongi kicks a barstool down. He begins pacing back and forth, gripping his hair so tightly Jimin is thinking he’ll rip the strands right out.

“Y-yoongi?” Jimin tries, fear grabbing hold of his gut, both from the approaching sirens and at the volatileness of Yoongi’s behaviour.

“No, no, no,” Yoongi murmurs as he continues pacing, Jimin’s obviously words falling on deaf ears, “I won’t let them, not again,”

“Yoongi, what are—”

“I won’t let them, goddamnit Jimin!” Yoongi cries, stepping right into Jimin’s space again, eyes wide and wild, “If they think they can take my freedom from me again, they’re fucking wrong,”

“Again?” Jimin stutters, taking a step back and away from Yoongi. Yoongi says nothing, lips now firmly sealed into a tight line as his eyes stare Jimin down sharply. A hand suddenly reaches forward and Jimin violently flinches as it approaches him. Jimin clenches his eyes shut, but feels nothing. He hears a slide of something and when he opens his eyes again, he wished he kept them close.

Yoongi is brandishing a knife, from a wood knife block on the counter behind Jimin. It’s chrome surface reflects and Jimin can’t help the way his body shakes.

“N-no,” Jimin whispers, eyes filling with tears from his intense dread and he can’t breathe.

Then, Yoongi turns the blade around and faces the handle to Jimin, causing Jimin’s heart to jump.

“Take it,” Yoongi hisses, “if you love me, you’ll take it,”

“What are you—” Jimin somehow blubbers as his tears cascade down his cheeks.

“Jimin, if you love me, you’ll do me this last favour,” and with a blink and Yoongi has the knife pressed into Jimin’s palm with the tip just centimetres from Yoongi’s chest.

“No!” Jimin cries, his hand trying to slacken its grip but Yoongi’s own grip on his hand tightens and brings the tip even closer, “D-don’t, I can’t!”

“Yes you can,” Yoongi eggs on, his tone suddenly soft and sweet like all those times before. The times that had Jimin rosy and flushed, pleased and valued, “and you will because you love me, don’t you?”

“what…” Jimin sniffles, the muscles in his biceps tense and shaking, as if they were just as confused as Jimin’s mind, “what will I do… without you?” Jimin chokes on the excess wetness of his throat, struggling over the very idea of what Yoongi is suggesting.

“You’ll find a way,” Yoongi reassures with a small smirk, “you always do,”

“But I love you,” Jimin tries again, giving a slight tug away but Yoongi tugs back with more strength and Jimin feels rather than sees that the tip of the knife had breached skin.

“Yes, you do,” Yoongi nods once, with the slightest of winces and then there are loud thumping knocks from the front of the home, with accompanying shouts. Yoongi looks over Jimin’s shoulder with a sharpened gaze for a split second before it softens back on Jimin. “On three, okay?”

“No, I don’t—” Jimin shakes his head, tears blurring Yoongi’s face.

“1,” Yoongi says, his hand gripping on Jimin so tightly Jimin can barely feel it anymore.

“Yoongi,” Jimin sobs out once more with his heart refusing to leave his throat.

“2,” and then Yoongi plunges the knife deep into his chest. Red blossoms beautifully around the wound and knife. Yoongi’s breath hitches and his teeth grit. His eyes catch onto Jimin’s again and with one last smirk Yoongi’s suddenly weakening grip pulls at Jimin’s hand once more and the knife is out with slick slide. Blood pours out like a river of red, staining Yoongi’s pale blue button-up shirt and the top of his jeans. That’s as far as blood reaches because Yoongi collapses onto the ground from there.

Jimin pants deeply in and out and his hand shakes with the knife for a few second before Jimin can drop it with a clang.

“Oh god,” Jimin gasps and drops to the floor. His hands hover over Yoongi’s body, unsure of where to place themselves,”Y-Yoongi, please, Yoongi, why—” he cries and one hand decides to rest against one of Yoongi’s cheeks. Yoongi’s eyes blink with length, unfocused and dopey. At Jimin’s touch, Yoongi flinches and turns his head with what little strength he has.

“Ha,” he croaks with his damn smirk as Jimin unwillingly smears blood with his caressing thumb, “good boy,”

“I love you,” Jimin whispers urgently and his other hand presses against the wound, though they both know the damage is irreversible.

“I know,” Yoongi groans, “I know, so let’s…” and Yoongi gasps and hacks, which for whatever reason causes Yoongi to snicker, “…let’s meet aga—” and then Yoongi stills.

“No!” Jimin shouts, “No! Yoongi!”

“Freeze! Hands where I can--” is shouted over Jimin’s cries and that’s all Jimin can remember from there. That and the burning image of Yoongi’s bleeding and crumpled corpse, still warm from it’s leaking blood.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

  
Date: September 21st 20XX  
Case #: 100233345 (Classification 01)  
Supervising Officer(s): Officer Kang (#3420) and Officer Hong (#3604)  
Status: Closed

 

 

Summary:

  * “Gourmet Killer”, cannibalistic and psychopathic serial killer, Min Yoongi. Confirmed ten known victims, though evidence from farmhouse (see case file pages: 10-13) suggests five more unidentifiable victims, with possibilities of more.
  * Anonymous tips (see script page: 7) led to retrieval. Min was found dead at the scene of his home, from a knife wound inflicted from person-of-interest, Mr. Park Jimin.
  *  Concluded Mr. Min gained interest in Mr.Park via his affliction with Case #100345767 (Classification 01). Captured Mr. Park and Mr.Park’s self-defence caused Mr. Min to be fatally wounded via a stab wound through the left ventricle (see Case #100445677 Classification 03 for full disclosure).



 

 

 

  
_“—I had no idea he was the killer, I mean--”_

_“—he was so nice to me, after my ex I thought…I thought he loved me—”_

_“—he pointed the knife at me and I just got this…flashback, you know from—”_

_“—next thing I knew, he’s on the grou—”_

_“—I was so scare—”_

_“—rying? O-of course I was crying, I nearly died! What would you—”_

_“—hat? …Yes, I… I did—”_

_“—How was I—”_

_“— and he…I swear he loved me t—”_

_“—I’m sorry, it’s still hard to think about—”_

_“—is it me?—”_

_“—am I wrong?”_

**_“—s it really that wrong? Wanting to be loved?”_ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god its done.  
> what  
> okay so like, hi, i'm so close to crying. this writing piece has pulled me to shreds in the best and worst ways, im so glad to see the resolution of my imagination because this au is my baby but sad to see it end too.  
> thank you to everyone who waited so patiently on this and for all your thoughtful comments. i know this ending isn't perfect; it being rushed and not as impactful as i would have liked, but i hoped you all enjoyed it nonetheless.  
> as always, i welcome all feedback on my [askfm account](http://ask.fm/mauvetarte), so don't be shy if you have any questions.  
> thank you all again, so much so sos soosomuch.  
> ps; note to self: never post another chaptered story that ii have not completed beforehand  
> pss: uploading off my ipad and its formatting is frustrating. will try to review on a better platform...tomorrow.  
> Psss: **Newwww:** I got a twitter now, [holla at your girl ](http://twitter.com/MauveTarte)


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